(no subject)
Wow, this journal is getting less and less love.
I guess that's what's kind of bothering me right now. I found this girl on Ravelry who's maybe 12 or 13 or something, and since I'm a creepy stalker curious about what she's up to, I decided to check out her blog.
Well, reading through it, it reads much like any 12 year old's blog. It's full of silliness, and pretention, and immaturity... but at the same time, there's so much enthusiasm and heart in what she writes that I have to wonder when it was that I became so spiritually dried up and crusty.
Her blog is a little silly, but it reminds me a lot of the way I used to think and behave in preteen years. I used to love to write, however bad it may have been. I used to love to imagine fantasy worlds, and crazy but fun characters. I used to devour fanfiction and books, and I'd hop enthusiastically from one idea to the next, whether it was astrology or necromancy or magic or anything out there. I invented all these wacky titles for myself ("Queen of the Mome Raths" comes forefront in my mind...). I made up alphabets and wrote journal entries in them. I kept a handwritten journal, for goodness sake.
And now what has my life become? I have a boyfriend, and I have friends who like to talk about boyfriends. I sit listlessly in front of the computer and watch anime. I sit listlessly in front of the computer and surf the net. I crochet from patterns. I sit listlessly in front of the computer and read about people crocheting from patterns. I might watch television sometimes. Occasionally I'll go for a bike ride or a jog.
When's the last time I wrote anything? Maybe a couple weeks ago, and it was a summary for a melodramatic short story. I don't even remember what I might have written before that. When's the last time I was captivated by an idea? Maybe in the spring, when I spent a lot of time (sitting listlessly in front of the computer) researching BPA in water bottles. When's the last time I had a stretch of the imagination? Maybe a couple weeks ago, but by now it's always the same fantasy, repeated with different people I encounter in my life. When's the last time I made up a character? You'd have to ask Buck and Oliver, but they're sitting in a jumble in the corner of my imagination, collecting dust.
Is it simply a part of growing up, losing all childlike whimsy, enthusiasm, and determination even while being ridiculous? Are adults just mundane, complacent creatures who think more about polypeptides and seasonal employment than magic potions and imaginary creatures?
This is an unfortunate turn of events for me. I need to find something to rejuvinate myself. I'll have to call again upon the muses that once inspired me to greatness. Above all, I'll have to get back in touch with my inner 12 year old girl once more, or risk losing her forever.
I guess that's what's kind of bothering me right now. I found this girl on Ravelry who's maybe 12 or 13 or something, and since I'm a creepy stalker curious about what she's up to, I decided to check out her blog.
Well, reading through it, it reads much like any 12 year old's blog. It's full of silliness, and pretention, and immaturity... but at the same time, there's so much enthusiasm and heart in what she writes that I have to wonder when it was that I became so spiritually dried up and crusty.
Her blog is a little silly, but it reminds me a lot of the way I used to think and behave in preteen years. I used to love to write, however bad it may have been. I used to love to imagine fantasy worlds, and crazy but fun characters. I used to devour fanfiction and books, and I'd hop enthusiastically from one idea to the next, whether it was astrology or necromancy or magic or anything out there. I invented all these wacky titles for myself ("Queen of the Mome Raths" comes forefront in my mind...). I made up alphabets and wrote journal entries in them. I kept a handwritten journal, for goodness sake.
And now what has my life become? I have a boyfriend, and I have friends who like to talk about boyfriends. I sit listlessly in front of the computer and watch anime. I sit listlessly in front of the computer and surf the net. I crochet from patterns. I sit listlessly in front of the computer and read about people crocheting from patterns. I might watch television sometimes. Occasionally I'll go for a bike ride or a jog.
When's the last time I wrote anything? Maybe a couple weeks ago, and it was a summary for a melodramatic short story. I don't even remember what I might have written before that. When's the last time I was captivated by an idea? Maybe in the spring, when I spent a lot of time (sitting listlessly in front of the computer) researching BPA in water bottles. When's the last time I had a stretch of the imagination? Maybe a couple weeks ago, but by now it's always the same fantasy, repeated with different people I encounter in my life. When's the last time I made up a character? You'd have to ask Buck and Oliver, but they're sitting in a jumble in the corner of my imagination, collecting dust.
Is it simply a part of growing up, losing all childlike whimsy, enthusiasm, and determination even while being ridiculous? Are adults just mundane, complacent creatures who think more about polypeptides and seasonal employment than magic potions and imaginary creatures?
This is an unfortunate turn of events for me. I need to find something to rejuvinate myself. I'll have to call again upon the muses that once inspired me to greatness. Above all, I'll have to get back in touch with my inner 12 year old girl once more, or risk losing her forever.