a vestige of thought...

Saturday, December 10, 2005

"As I Lay Living" or "My Mother is not a Fish"

I like to be literary, and I like to be random. Most of the times, these two do not mix. However, Faulkner seems to have mastered the technique of blending the two. According to the critics, anyway. I figured: if Faulkner can be random for a few hundred pages and become famous for it, can't I be random for a few paragraphs and at least reach a greater level of entertainment than, say, watching paint peel, while possibly being literaryish at the same time? This is the kind of entry that Kelly will tell me she gets weak off of. Well, Kelly, I hope you make it over from Xanga-land to read this.

I went to NMPC's coffeehouse for the first time in very many times last night. It lasted until after midnight (though I had to leave at midnight, lest I turn into a pumpkin). I turned my light out at 12:45, well aware of the fact that my alarm was set for 6:47 the next morning. On most nights, I have very little trouble falling asleep. On the night in question, however, I spent many long moments staring at my ceiling (which was very blurry, as I had taken my glasses off) thinking about many things. Amongst these many thoughts was one that went, "I wonder if my life would make a good book?" to which another, strong voiced thought replied, "Certainly not. If your life were that interesting, you wouldn't have time to blog about it."

About 98% of this world is cliche. Of the remaining 2%, 1.5% are unknown and the other 0.5% are getting filthy rich selling books and movies and are well on their way to becoming cliche as well.

Today, December 10, 2005, marks the 8th year anniversary of my first journal entry. To commemorate this momentous occasion, I shall share a few of my journaled [pseudo-] thoughts from my younger days. Any mistakes are left as they were originally written.

April 17, 1998

Dear Journal,
I really have to go

Love,
Christy

October 12, 1999

Dear Journal,
I was in a big rush to get into the shower today because Mom wanted to come into the bathroom to brush her teeth. I was in such a hurry that I forgot to take off my socks! Mom didn't leave until I was almost done with my shower, so I had to take the whole shower with my socks on!

Love,
Christy

I still wonder why it never occurred to me that I could still remove the socks while I was in the shower.

July 19, 2000

Dear Jenn [at some point I gave my journal a name],
This is the last time I will write anything as a twelve-year-old. Nothing in me will really change, except I don't be able to order food off the children's menu anymore (except for Cracker Barrel who's menu is for "kids of all ages.") Maybe if I'm lucky my handwriting will improve, but don't hold your breath. I'm going to go read a little before I turn the light out.

(CMH)

Good news! My handwriting has drastically improved since I was 12!

In my more contemplative moods (which have become more frequent in my more recent journals) I used to write constantly about the futility of words.

November 2, 2001 Jennifer [enough with nicknames, it's Jennifer now],
What a mysterious and wonderful thing joy is! Joy. What a small simple word for a such a huge, beautiful feeling! If the feeling joy brings could be said in one word, it would be so long that it would wrap around the world a million times and still not be good enough. The feeling is undescribable, and I'm just wasting paper and ink trying! Oh! If only I could discover how to truly express that feeling and other feelings my writing would be perfect! I think the writing of teenagers is wonderful and important because the emotions they feel are so real and so different than emotions at any other stage of life. [Granted, I'm still a teenager, but now I'm not so sure that the latter part of this statement is true.] And I think that each person's emotions are unique to themselves [heirself]. The joy that I feel may be different than the joy of my best friend, because I'm living a different life with a different soul and a different set of circumstances.
Do you know what? Writing is a miracle. The ability that we have to put lines and dots and curves on a piece of paper and have them mean something is amazing! Wow!

Love,
Christy

Give me a few years and I'll be laughing at my 2005 entries.

I started work at 8:00 today. I was moderately alert, but remember, I had just spent several sleepless hours pondering. Josh walks in and says, "Man this is going to be a long day." I say, "How long are you working?" He says, "Until three." Me: "So am I. It's not that long." Josh: "Yeahbut- (and yes, that's one word) I'm ti-erd." Me (thinking): "Can I whack you over the head with this large metal spoon I'm holding?"

Old guys are so lame sometimes. Some guy comes up to Chick-Fil-A today, orders a cup of coffee and says, "What did you do to your wrist? Slip on the ice... chasing boys? Guffaw, guffaw" It wouldn't be quite so bad if they didn't laugh at themselves as if they had said something hysterically funny. Me (thinking): "I've still got that metal spoon handy..."

The Smoothie King people make my day.

Saw Pride and Prejudice yesterday. The movie and I have a love/hate relationship. I've yet to fully explore my thoughts in writing. Give me a few days and perhaps another movie viewing and book reading (I'm nearly finished with the book again).

I've got to go to Rohs Street Cafe sometime. With all the people I know (and know of) who have played there, I've still yet to even see the place.

What is it that makes some persons so darn cool?!

My family went out and bought a Christmas tree today. All the trees were short this year. When you buy the tree, the tree-people always cut a bit of the trunk off so it can better absorb water or something. As a result of this, there are little pine tree circles laying around all over the ground. Dad and I both picked some up to put in our cars to make them smell good and later Lisa gave me a cinnamon apple sauce ornament that she made to hang from my rear-view mirror. My car now smells of a mixture of evergreen trees and cinnamon. It's fantastic.

How you know it's way to cold in your house (all of which are happening at my house):
~The butter that you leave on your counter to soften stays just as hard as it was in the refridgerator.
~You take water bottles out of the refridgerator to warm up before you drink them
~Everyone sits around in the evenings burred under sweatshirts and blankets
~You blow a fuse several times a week by forgetting to turn the space heaters off before using the microwave
~You use an unzipped mummy sleeping bag as a blanket on your bed

"Is he- quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous meeting a lion."
"If there's anyone who can appear before Aslan without their kneew knocking, they're either braver than most or else just silly."
"Then he isn't safe?"
"Safe? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good."

The End.

Ok, so I'm not Faulkner.

120. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (the book, as I've not yet seen the movie)
121. Seeing Skyro and Saving Souls at Coffeehouse last night
122. Cool people
posted by Christy at 8:27 PM

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home