skull-buckle dreams of egyptian design...
Occasionally I find myself staring at letters, admiring their shape and the way they combine in order to form words. The curve of an a, sort of delicate and dignified, but lightened by the playful companionship of a dotted lowercase i. I don't know where these thoughts come from, precisely, but there's just something fascinating about the formation of letters and their various combinations. Like the way a y can represent so many different things depending on the style in which it was written. There's the businesslike typewriter-style y, and the loopy cursive y (in a large, whole-tail loop or a smaller end loop that trails off beyond the natural boundaries of the letter), and the straight-tailed y, and the u-shaped top versus the v-shaped top... I have no idea why I'm so focused on this at the moment, but fonts really do give the letters a distinct personality, and I think that feeling affects each word based upon the letters that go into its making. Certainly one gets a different feeling from a paragraph written in a purposely playful font than the same paragraph written in old-fashioned cursive loops or italicized caps lock or a swirling freehand script.
Perhaps I am focusing on something small and unrelated to anything particularly relevant in order to avoid certain lines of thought. Certain things that I do not want to think about or deal with. The usual flight response when faced with a fight-or-flight decision; I have really got to deal with my tendency to avoid rather than problem-solve.
I got to do some more editing today. Editing other people's work is so soothing; I don't have to battle with myself in the same way I would were I editing my own work. Editing one's own writing puts one in the defensive position as an author as well as the offensive position of the editor, and it really makes it difficult to clearly visualize what needs to be done with a piece. Not impossible, but challenging, because the writer's ego is up close, personal, and making beautifully rational excuses. Editing the work of another person is more calming and methodical; the writer is a separate entity, and it's therefore easier to see what needs to be done and do it.
(Almost like performing surgery, I'd imagine. You certainly don't want to be slicing your own abdomen open to remove a defective organ, because let's face it, you can't stop thinking about what you're doing to your own body long enough to actually focus on doing it. But another person's abdomen, another person's defective organ? Much easier. Bring it, says the surgeon. I do appendectomies for breakfast.)
The editing was a bit of a distracting attempt to de-stress after I finally finished the last part of the ChaCha employment test today. I'm afraid I might have botched a couple of questions in my semi-panicked state; it really is frazzling to have the seconds ticking away at you from the upper-right corner of the screen coupled with the niggling knowledge that someone's going to be looking at your answers and judging you for them. So, I might have screwed myself over on that front. I don't think I can actually try again with different registration info--I can use a different email, but my real name is still going to be the same. Guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, though. Have to hear back from them first.
This entry is getting long, and it is really warm in here. Humid, too, which is always lovely. Ohio weather is interesting in its state of constant change, but its tendency toward humidity will never be welcome, I fear.
Music is soothing, as well. I love my iTunes. I've recently figured out how to download mp3s from Nico Nico Douga, which is awesome, because I can get access to music I'd never find in the iTunes store in a million years and carry it around with me. The iPod is essential for long summer-evening walks. I love walking around town; there are always opportunities to people watch, and I just have to drift a little closer to campus to get enough space to sing. I'm wary of actually wandering around on-campus, though. It's so deserted in the summer; despite the emergency lights here and there, it just doesn't feel all that safe. So I'll refrain from campus walks until school resumes. There are lots of populated areas around town suitable for walking, anyway.
I might have to cease my blathering soon. There's an extremely awkward advertisement on the right side of my screen, and it's positioned in such a way that I can't scroll to avoid it without losing access to the entry box. Every time I look up to think about what to type next, I see this advertisement, which features a man in his twenties or so, apparently naked but for a towel tied dangerously low on his hips. Any lower, even by the slightest amount, and we'd be in 18+ territory. The advertisement reads "IM CRAZY RIPPED" in large red letters beside the dude's unnaturally white self-assured grin, reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat in its span alone, and his expression suggests concern for neither the ousted apostrophe nor his own nude figure (which, to be fair, has likely been Photoshopped beyond all reason).
In any event, the point I'm trying to express is that this advertisement is giving me the fracking creeps, and if I have to keep staring at it, I may physically punch my computer screen. So for the sake of my computer, the entry ends here. Farewell and adieu. Good night.
(I wish the storm would break. The humidity is nigh unbearable.)
Perhaps I am focusing on something small and unrelated to anything particularly relevant in order to avoid certain lines of thought. Certain things that I do not want to think about or deal with. The usual flight response when faced with a fight-or-flight decision; I have really got to deal with my tendency to avoid rather than problem-solve.
I got to do some more editing today. Editing other people's work is so soothing; I don't have to battle with myself in the same way I would were I editing my own work. Editing one's own writing puts one in the defensive position as an author as well as the offensive position of the editor, and it really makes it difficult to clearly visualize what needs to be done with a piece. Not impossible, but challenging, because the writer's ego is up close, personal, and making beautifully rational excuses. Editing the work of another person is more calming and methodical; the writer is a separate entity, and it's therefore easier to see what needs to be done and do it.
(Almost like performing surgery, I'd imagine. You certainly don't want to be slicing your own abdomen open to remove a defective organ, because let's face it, you can't stop thinking about what you're doing to your own body long enough to actually focus on doing it. But another person's abdomen, another person's defective organ? Much easier. Bring it, says the surgeon. I do appendectomies for breakfast.)
The editing was a bit of a distracting attempt to de-stress after I finally finished the last part of the ChaCha employment test today. I'm afraid I might have botched a couple of questions in my semi-panicked state; it really is frazzling to have the seconds ticking away at you from the upper-right corner of the screen coupled with the niggling knowledge that someone's going to be looking at your answers and judging you for them. So, I might have screwed myself over on that front. I don't think I can actually try again with different registration info--I can use a different email, but my real name is still going to be the same. Guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, though. Have to hear back from them first.
This entry is getting long, and it is really warm in here. Humid, too, which is always lovely. Ohio weather is interesting in its state of constant change, but its tendency toward humidity will never be welcome, I fear.
Music is soothing, as well. I love my iTunes. I've recently figured out how to download mp3s from Nico Nico Douga, which is awesome, because I can get access to music I'd never find in the iTunes store in a million years and carry it around with me. The iPod is essential for long summer-evening walks. I love walking around town; there are always opportunities to people watch, and I just have to drift a little closer to campus to get enough space to sing. I'm wary of actually wandering around on-campus, though. It's so deserted in the summer; despite the emergency lights here and there, it just doesn't feel all that safe. So I'll refrain from campus walks until school resumes. There are lots of populated areas around town suitable for walking, anyway.
I might have to cease my blathering soon. There's an extremely awkward advertisement on the right side of my screen, and it's positioned in such a way that I can't scroll to avoid it without losing access to the entry box. Every time I look up to think about what to type next, I see this advertisement, which features a man in his twenties or so, apparently naked but for a towel tied dangerously low on his hips. Any lower, even by the slightest amount, and we'd be in 18+ territory. The advertisement reads "IM CRAZY RIPPED" in large red letters beside the dude's unnaturally white self-assured grin, reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat in its span alone, and his expression suggests concern for neither the ousted apostrophe nor his own nude figure (which, to be fair, has likely been Photoshopped beyond all reason).
In any event, the point I'm trying to express is that this advertisement is giving me the fracking creeps, and if I have to keep staring at it, I may physically punch my computer screen. So for the sake of my computer, the entry ends here. Farewell and adieu. Good night.
(I wish the storm would break. The humidity is nigh unbearable.)