Thursday, April 19, 2012

I miss LiveJournal...

So I used to have this livejournal account that I started a decade. An actual real Decade ago. I am still such a kid at heart that I can't believe that I just typed that statement. How am I old enough to even remember what happened a decade ago?

The special aspect of said first blog account was that it was uncensured. I would just spew, nearly daily, all my minute emotional rumblings and petty thoughts about hating my job and hating my classes and interactions with passersby. I actually logged back into that account today, and though I set every last one of those entries to private a long, long time ago: I still have access, even after all this time. Maybe I should go back to that account. Perhaps it would allow me to recapture misspend youth.

Nah, I'll just continue here. You can't go back again, right? But there are a few key take away lessons from delving into the past for an afternoon:

1. Write as if no one will read it but you. It's the only way for me to be genuinely me.
2. Get out more often. It's the little things that matter in writing, and in life.
3. You're never quite as far as you think you are from the life you want to live.

Having a livejournal kept me sane. Perhaps now I feel a little insane because I starve myself of that forum. It would be a good idea to form an entry daily, without worrying about what the market is like. In 2002, blogs were personal journals. Nowadays, everyone has a damn blog and it has to have a market niche. Nuts to That! It's time to have again, to become once more addicted to the written word!Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Wind across the plains...

I find it difficult to work while traveling. Perhaps this is something that I should remedy. Or perhaps not. It is at these times that I let the images of new places and the experience of travel wash over me, the inspiration drilling deep into my consciousness to save for a later time. Carry a notebook, they say, to capture it before it is gone. But it is not gone. Later I write it down. Moments captured in my brain, stamped on my brain, until I write them all down.

Boyfriend and I scamper over the prairie, he taking photos of animals that dwell between partially submerged cottages and derelict scientific observation stations. Then we drive. It is so vast, so open. Kilometers stretch in every direction. Every though we can see so far, to the edge where the earth curves away, there is no one. The weather turns suddenly and there is not a single other human being, not even another vehicle. It is as though we've reached the end of time, and there is no one left but us.