I know I've been posting a shit ton in the past few days but that's because I've been doing a lot of reading and poem revising and for the past 23 hours I've had the house to myself, which WOW, opens up a river of thoughts. Mainly I've been cultivating thoughts for my critical thesis, but also exploring new photographers and just thinking a lot, I guess. And I've been writing a lot in my journal, which led me to thinking about writing in my journal, which lead me to thinking about all the journals I've ever filled, which led to a very insightful and entertaining past 45 minutes or so.
The particular journal I've lost myself in is from 2007/2008, i.e. my sophomore year of college at Winona State, i.e. the year before Evelyn. It's funny, to read things I would have never remembered thinking. A lot of it is random scribbling, fleeting thoughts and ideas, like most of my journal writing is. And some of it cracks me up! Like this:
Tuesday, October 2nd, 2007, 8:41 p.m.
Is it a good sign if my own poems make me want to cry?
Today at dinner I looked around and realized I was the only person in the cafeteria sitting by myself. And at this I was thrilled. People often bore me to talk to, but to watch them I could do for quite some time.
This just makes me laugh because it's so honest and still somewhat true. Sometimes.
I found other fragments that were much more somber, like this:
Tuesday, October 9th, 2001, 10:56 a.m.
Thoughts I had during class/things people said that made me think:
"Something terrible always happens"
"[Poetry] or [literature] is the most fun you can have with your clothes on." --Dr. Armstrong
Sometimes, I just get so upset with myself. And suddenly I question everything I have done, everything I believe in.
Am I wrong?
The most frustrating part is that no one can answer this question, and maybe this is why people read the Bible and believe in God.
?
Maybe I'm boring you with all of this but it's so interesting to me to revisit my old thoughts. Just a few more:
Tuesday, October 16th, 2007, 7:52 p.m.
"Beauty fades" -- if you agree with this you are looking at the wrong kind of beauty.
I skim through pages of "Ideas to Write About" and "The Poet's Companion" but I can never find anything that strikes me as interesting.
I re-read everything I've ever written, but none of that strikes me as interesting either.
Why do some people walk like they have a load of shit in their pants while others walk like they have a cracker up their ass they don't want to crack?
HA! I'm still laughing out loud at that last part. I wonder what led me to think that. Last one for now:
Monday, October 22, 2007, sometime during class
Is there any symbolism in the fact that, in a classroom of 50, I am using a wooden pencil and every other person has a mechanical one, or yet, a LAPTOP?
I pick up my blue plastic sharpener and feel bizarre gratification as I twist my dixon ticonderoga until the tip is smooth and sharp.
Dude, I was sharpening a pencil earlier when I was working on my painting and I marveled at the thought that Eva will probably never use one! That she will use a mechanical pencil and look upon a "normal" pencil as something so bizarre.
ReplyDeleteI like this post...what was going on in the mind of my best friend at such an interesting time in our lives. Bravo! I feel like I could add a few more thoughts we would have had to this post. None of which would be as deep or even appropriate to share publicly. HA!
ReplyDeleteLIZ! We could write a book, I'm sure :) More to come!
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