Falling Off The Balcony

I have officially sent in my deposit to Seattle.

I recieved my housing options in the post today.

The weather has been exceptionally exquisite lately.

I've had large burts of inspiration.

My oh my, I feel so tired, but grateful. Why? I don't know why I feel so grateful.

I am officially tired of routines. I used to love being in a comfort zone. When things went out of wack and happened to be unexpected, it'd tick me off. But, now things are drastically changing this month in my life, I am starting to see how much positive emotions flow through me when the unordinary appears.

My foot is falling asleep, and that does not count. I hate when my feet fall asleep, especially after I've eaten my lunch and I'm trying to hobble up 4 flights of stairs to my next class, and I look like a nut, keeling over the side of the railing trying to shake out the prickling on the back of my calf. Numb calves are never a fun time.

Walking in sand really works them calves, though. I was in Long Beach, Belmont Shores, twice last week for some swim relays. Ah- it was great. I know it was Long Beach, not the most beautiful of beaches you've laid your eyes on, but it was still pleasent. Hell, it was a beach, yes? I got a few snaps with my spifferific camera, which are pretty amateur, but are still fun.

Here is someone we burried waist-deep into the sand. She was trying to get out, it was hilarious, and so I took a shot at her struggle. I eventually had to put away the camera and carry her out of the pit.

Have you ever studied the swirls on the beach at low tide? It's very intriguing. The ripples and streams in the damp sand are great to study. I love how it shines in the sun- all of the shades and sparkles bouncing off your eyes.

I need to go read, write, or sleep. No other option.

Hej hej,

ANY.

Fizz

Withdrawals. I don't have the third book in my hands right now. I'm salivating, in anticipation for more. More. I never knew how intrigued I'd be, how fascinated- the storyline is another Romeo and Juliet. Ah, but it's has a few things thrown in it, as well. If you don't know what I am referring to, I'm speaking of the Twlight series by Stephenie Meyer. So sad, I'm going to be in college next year, waiting in anticipation for more books by her...

Life is dreamy.
There are so many ways to escape it, to eliminate the complicated stuff clouding our brains. We all take different steps to inhale the hormones to ease our suffocations. In my ways, it varies. Some days I just lie flat on my back, staring at whatever may be above me, incorporating and indulging in daydreams of the future, or a life I'd never live. With these moments, I sketch out storylines that I'll never finish. I've always had a problem with starting stories and never finishing them. I have to write every word down- I don't trust computers to store my files. You're probably saying, "That's what backups are for, silly," but still. As long as there is no fire, your writing is better kepts written. Not typed.
Since I handwrite everything that comes to mind (with the exception of blogs; I don't want to store my information on the internet unless if I'm completely satisfied with it, which hardly ever happens) it takes forever. I eventually grow exhausted with the idea, abandon it for a few months, a year, maybe never dust off the notebook again.
What is sick is that as soon as I start to read the last few lines that I stopped at, I immediately know where to take off. Somehow my mind has managed to store these plots (over ten incomplete) and allow me to finish them. Of course, that hardly happens unless if I'm truly inspired.

I think I get scared of finishing them. When I did finish one story, it felt so good. It was truly difficult to let go of it, so I immediately began to use the same characters for a sequel. Surprise, surprise, I never finished the sequel.

It took me seven years to finish one composition notebook of ramblings. The last bits were scribbled into on Tuesday this week, and even that was hard to let go.


Ah, to hell with it. I need to finish my damned thoughts if I want to accomplish something with my writing. Effort.

Hej hej,
ANY.

Myers-Briggs

We list everything. We can't just leave things the way they are. Rankings or how well you do.
How good something is.
How BAD soemting is.
We need to see things as just that-- things!
I don't want to know different levels of thinking. I don't want to know what type of personality I might have.

I need to get back to reading. It's magically 9 PM, pretty much stuff is done (erm, right) but I feel a wee bit woozy with fatigue. I refuse to go to bed at a reasonable time. This sleep deprevation thing, it is pretty neat. Not good for my health, but yeah. It isn't good to mess up your sleep pattern, anyway.

I'm going to finish a few things and listen to some Jens Lekman while doing this Stats. Then I'll pop on my glasses, into my bed, and just read away with Mew.
Damn Cullen family. Why does Stephenie Meyer have to have an interesting storyline and premature writing? It's so enthralling, nevertheless.

HOP SKIP TO

My brain is pulsating. It might be the lamp.

Hej hej,


ANY.