It's been a day of meaningless writing -- the hasty scribble of Spanish words, answering silly questions in "full sentences." The writing progressively runs more carelessly. Perhaps letters will be dropped here and there, too slow to catch on. Sentences turn to a swollen stream of cursive words nearly linked as one. For crying out loud, I don't care anymore! But I will at 8am if this paper is examined by eyes less forgiving than my own were at this hour.

People holler and cheer outside. I write what humor I can to far away friends and boyfriend. No sadness, simply a bit tired. If I could, I would write creatively all day long. But I need those other things -- classes, assignments (regardless of language), practice, bed -- to make me value it more. To channel it effectively, if I can ever get time to let it run.

after an ode to peanut-buttery-goodness

I love seemingly random sources of inspiration, as the title suggests. Any object -- anything at all -- can be elevated to that higher level (or lowered, perhaps, depending on one's perspective/cynicism) of human communion.

let us kill the spirit of gravity - nietzsche

I don't believe that good writing must take itself seriously all of the time.

I dreamt last night of what I'd considered for the short-short. Surfboards, ocean, boy. But this boy was older and the waves grave and choppy on a gray afternoon. They're breaking and I know you'll want to get in. I'm nervous, but I'll try. Then I woke up.

The vision I'd had in mind held glistening waves and too-bright sun. Hope, but perhaps in the end, too much.

a new direction

So now I can use my blog for academic purposes? Sweet.

I'm excited for Creative Writing, in all honesty. I need that motivation to create an ending, to fulfill the character's promise. Perhaps it's because I often find my character's life running alongside mine. The ending to that story, whether good or bad, has yet to be realized. I hope, at the very least, that it's interesting.

rising fog

I must see my friends and family ere I go. I must pack. Really. I must construct artwork/collages to decorate my room with the people mentioned before. I must run. I'd like to write. I will, again, but I don't know if I can now. Not enough time. What pictures? What time? ((If anyone feels they would like to randomly bestow me with a gift, festive, homemade decorations and collages would be very welcome!)) An internship in the city next summer? I'm so attached to wherever I stay for too long. You all give me good reason to hold on, no matter where I go.

Approaching 1:30 am. Fog rises, nestling the streetlights. They glow for me, serenely blurred. The road is clear. I am alone. I am calm.

Down the road, a sudden and silent dense cloud in the black and orange night. I drive. Red lights appear. Without a whisp, clarity returns. I always knew it would.

learning to surf on a calm sea

Sunshine in the day and cool, almost-fall-esque nights with the hint of smoke in the air feel so right. Ice cream fits any season.

It's coming, it's coming...it's passed. I leap to my feet and immediately jump off, laughing all the way down. Real waves sweep other shores today. Still, it's pleasant to paddle under the sun, floating on this fiberglass chunk that slowly becomes more familiar. We balance each other. The swells turn natural instead of unsteadying. Bright sun belies a cool breeze. Our teeth chatter. We float on anyway, determined (and tired).

I ponder not life, love, or lack of sleep, but when my next chance will come. Does it count if I really haven't caught a wave? Because I'll gladly try again another day. Summer, you feel so right.

as i roam,

I believe that if people took the time to walk about a half hour each day -- without rush or destination -- in a peaceful place, their quality of life would improve greatly.