November 20, 2002
Beauty and the Mess
Is that a fever blister on my lip or the product of a rather violent kiss?
I have the whole evening stretching free before me, but I know that I'll just waste it. I want to write, so I can feel like I have some sort of purpose in my life, but I probably won't. I feel like sleeping, seeing as I have about a ten hour sleep debt haunting me this week, and, with my habits, it will likely only grow worse.
I wonder, do other college students sleep so little because they are studying and doing homework or, like me, because they are playing with the computer or their significant other?
'Playing' is perhaps not the best word choice there.
I want to take pictures with the film I bought, but my anal retentive tendencies prevent me from doing so.
I don't like trees or fields or picturesque landscapes. I really like pictures of people, of strangers or friends or both. I see someone doing something ordinary or extraordinary and I just want to take their picture, but I can't very well just walk up and ask. They'll either agree and stop doing what it was they were doing and smile awkwardly, or look at me like I'm crazy and back away without making any sudden movements.
I also love my camera. It was the first legitimate thing I ever bought myself, saved up the money and everything. I think that was three years ago, though it could have been more.
It makes everyone look beautiful, mostly because everyone is in their own little way. But their faces are bright and smooth and their smiles and wide and genuine. It captures moments instead of images, and is far superior to the one I just bought recently at twice its value. There's nothing special about it.
It's like magic.
Speaking of magic, I went and saw Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets again yesterday with Mike. He didn't really care for it (blasphemy, I know), but he also didn't really care for the first one and I think was really only humoring me. He claimed that he would like the movies alot more if Harry were only a better wizard. The thing is, though, is he is so appealing because he is just an average wizard, and succeeds because of traits that any Muggle could possess, thus linking the readers to him.
J.K. Rowling is a genius, you know.
You know what? I realized today that In Another's Footsteps is twice as long as the NaNoWriMo novels have to be. It's 114, 968 words, to be exact. Nevermind the fact that it's been nearly a year since I began it. I can't believe it has been that long.
I have grown but Wren has not.
I think about my characters when I am having a hard time, because they are so much stronger than I am. Even then weak ones. They can be broken apart and put back together, and I have the power to condemn them to either fate.
Writing can kind of be like egomania, however escapist the behavior may be.
Changed my major to English Literature today and did a little dance in the crosswalk about it. I'm ready to be an English teacher. I'm ready to be a grown up.
I need to work on my book so I stop thinking about student loans and boyfriend's work and history papers that are too long and too soon due.
astera at 6:09 p.m.