i've been doing some writing lately.
pen and paper. word documents. things like that.
everything i write blows chunks. seriously. it's all terrible. which is such a shame...because the ideas are in my head. they're coherent. they flow beautifully. but, the second i attempt to siphon ideas from my head into written form, they shrivel. we're talking raisins, here. plump, juicy grapes in my brain, and shriveled, sorry excuses for verbiage on paper.
i speak better than i write. it's a shame, because my ideas are best when inside my brain. my speech is hasty and anxious, at best. tangental. disjointed. but, occasionally, there are short bursts of eloquence or wit.
which is more than i can say for my writing.
when i was little, i wanted to write a book. i came up with pseudonyms while daydreaming through math. isabel-this, jo-that, kris-someone, liese-someone-else...the list continues. i would write about my adventures as a second-grader. though some of the names may need to be changed -- for the sake of privacy and/or safety -- all events therein would be true. real. even as a seven-year-old, i wanted to write about the people in my life. then, it was pretending to be on yoshi island or opening a worm hospital after rainstorms or being in love with a person i couldn't have. now, it's the same thing. except, for many years now, yoshi island has been grad school and opening a worm hospital has been moving from place to place.
i have so much i'd like to say. and it isn't that i want to write because i need everyone to know all the intimate details of my life. i just want it out there. out of my head.
maybe it isn't supposed to be. maybe the universe wants it to stay in my head...wants me to stay in my head.
bye for now.