Ah, my little bloggie blog, my little friend, long time no see. As anyone might have guessed, I gave up long ago on trying to maintain this sucker with school and all that nonsense going on. Yet still I come back. It's my addiction.
Funny thing about me and blogs: I always start them with the perpetual intent that no one will read them, but secretly hoping all the while that someone will. Take this post for instance; a month and a half into the new school year, and no one's keeping up with their blogs. Should be safe to post something reasonably revealing about myself... and yet... there's always the chance that someone might actually read it and find out about me... and yet.... that's exactly what I want.
Am I alone out here? Is it just me wanting someone to know me, yet being a bit too nervous to bare it all. Maybe. Story time: back in junior year of high school I was pretty damn messed up and confused about everything. My future, who I was, the meaning of life, yada yada, the list goes on. It really sounds like the makings of a terribly-boring-yet-true-to-life indie film that documents a young super-angsty teenage girl's attempts to comprehend the workings of the world. Yes, all that and more! I should really go into advertising. It was a joke. Back to the point though, thinking about it some more, I don't really know if much has changed. I'm a little better at masking all the internal conflict, perhaps. But not much better. This tells you a lot about how very super-angsty I was back in the day.
I feel like I'm just pushing back everything (the lack of specifics is disappointing, I realize, but I can't seem to think of much right now), and I don't really reveal myself very fully to anyone. I really miss my violin, because I'm not very good with words and somehow words seemed to flow out of every pore of that thing while I was playing it. I guess I'm just lacking something to immerse myself completely in. I'm just going through the motions, passionless. That's the worst.
One thing I hope I'm a little better at now is telling people how I feel. This summer changed that. I hope for anyone still reading this (you're out there somewhere?) that you know that my word is gold. If I say I care about you, or miss you, or want to see you soon, I mean it. When I say I'm sorry, I really mean it. I am being vulnerable for you. Because when people show me that all my high-minded cynical generalizations about the world and humanity are crap, then I know it's all worth it. I live off that stuff. It might be my life's vocation.
I really want to do something important with my life. Or if not that, I want to get all I can out of it, doing the things I always dreamed of. Like seeing architecture, real bonafide European architecture. Traveling. Reading. Making music. Even writing. Simple dreams, you say. Well simple is good enough for me.
Well. It's getting late. Everything I ever say ends up rambling terribly (a tribute to Faulkner for you all) and no one will really ever understand it, not even myself. Still, it felt good to get some of it out. Now maybe I can get some sleep.