Random Thoughts
So I've been thinking about the whole writing thang. I've visited so many blogs that I'm embarrassed that I'm beginning to feel like a voyeur. I'm often left speechless after reading a blog so deep in thought and can only utter the one or two words perfected by Keanu in virtually all of his movies: "Whoa." "Dude." I go through the motions of wanting to be able to express myself so eloquently with all the A.P. English vocab I acquired in high school, but to no avail. I think of all the reading that I've done in my 29 years of life and am appalled that my vocab seems so limited. In writing up my research papers for my class, I turn to my handy dandy thesaurus to provide "adult-like" words to make me sound professional and more knowledgeable. Then of course, there's my number one reason for using plain and simple speech- "I work with 8 year-olds." At work, I'm surrounded by students from k-4th grades on a daily basis. My choice of speech is limited to my desire to relate to my students and ensure they understand me. I don't know why I'm trying to find a reason why I don't think I write (and speak) so well. Maybe it's because I'm out of my element out here. I remind myself that I am exactly the person I am supposed to be and I am in the exact place and situation I am supposed to be in. So with all things said, I am supposed to be pondering the things I am thinking? Hmmmm....

I was remembering back to one of the first times I wrote something I actually consider a poem. It was my freshman year in college and virgocapri and I were hanging out in the Student Union pyramids. Since fellow gators were sleeping and/or making out (disgustingly so), we passed a notebook back and forth to converse. I started jotting down these words that so happened to pop into my mind and the end result was a poem. Virgocapri added her two cents into it, too. Pretty funny when I think back to that poem...I got it around here somewhere. All I remember is that it was about someone having an affair and someone being stabbed to death. Nothing romantic...morbid actually. But y'know, whoever was having the affair deserved it.

The more I got involved in college, the more "artsy" and talented people I met. I was in awe of these people perfecting their craft from infancy and I still do. Maybe it was a desire in me to be like them. So I tried my hand at writing. Whatever came to my mind. I wrote down my thoughts and feelings after a trip to the beach. I described the feeling of the wind on my face, the damp smell in the air, and the sounds of the surf. I imagined how it would be to fly free as a bird or to be a crab digging tunnels in the sand. The beach was a major inspiration for me. I wrote when I was happy. I wrote when I was sad. I'd write when I was crying over an a-hole boyfriend. (If only I was as bold and articulate as comedian Margaret Cho, I would've said the exact same thing to a particular ex of mine. This should be THE breaking-up anthem for all. Be forewarned: by clicking on her link, inappropriate language to follow. Lots of it.) And I found that after I got my thoughts on paper, it felt like a huge burden lifted off my shoulders. It was as if I poured my heart and soul out to a best friend offering an ear to listen. I used to regret not keeping some of the things I wrote. I'd trash them in spirit of my psychology classes. "Writing things down will help ease your troubles. Throwing them out will rid you of that negative energy flowing in your body." So I threw some out, not in Waiting to Exhale fashion mind you, but got rid of them nonetheless. Damn. Makes me sound like I had problems, but y'know what, even though I didn't end up being a psychologist, it sure helped me deal with all the obstacles I've had to overcome in my lifetime. Makes me breathe a little easier and yes, helps me to exhale better, too.

SlamBook Question of the Day
"Name one celebrity who you wrongly thought was attractive."