poetry strings along in my head when I'm walking these days.
I write more when I'm in my winter blues mode. Tho at the present I don't actually do any writing that makes it down to paper or type. The urge to document it doesn't quite last, or I feel silly to post it by the time I can. The diagnosis of winter blues is completely self-made. This is probably training from my delightfully unique mother who I've yet to write into a play of some sorts. My whole immediate family is quite quirky and while stringing along poetry, adding music to it, and contemplating my existence, i also wonder if I'd ever brave trying to sketch them on paper in a narrative of sorts. It would capture the essence of the family for future reference when i'm missing them. Might even amuse others.
I used to write quite well, during college there was talk about publishing my short stories in some compendium at the end of the semester, along with other English department submissions, but I never followed through with it. I have stacks of journals and sketchbooks I could write in - yet something holds me back. Can you imagine that? Stacks of half-filled journals strewn about. I finally got a side cabinet to hold most of them. I've been feeling a tiredness that seems pretty deep lately. Daffodils may be blooming, but nothing seems to get through the gloomy coldness I'm feeling at times these last few weeks.
I've taken a break from facebook, but like any addict I find it difficult to not check on. I also have cut down on texting my boyfriend, after he commented that I texted him too much. I'm of the mind that there is never too much texting, but I am probably wrong. So I've almost completely stopped. This task is even more difficult than the last. I don't know how to not communicate instantaneously. If I must wait to emote, the urge goes away, but there's a feeling of loss associated with the lack of communication of something I felt was important to convey at the time. I find I've been twittering more and buzzing a bit (these words don't seem like real verbs). This could easily become a similar problem as facebook though, and I fear I'll have to stop completely or suffer finding myself constantly checking to see what anyone has said so I can participate and feel like I'm part of something. The problem may lie in that in the last few months I found I don't actually talk to anyone in person outside of work or on occasion, with my roommates. I constantly crave communication with others and never learned to curb my need to comment. I find I need social interaction of some sort, and I feel alone much of the time, even though I'm not (alone).
The other day I was wandering a relatively new area of town for me, Bucktown. I've always equated it as hipster central. There's an eclectic mix of posh boutique and chain stores, interspersed with artists of modern form. I felt very out of place, but also intrigued by the varied quilt this neighborhood seemed to be patched together from. There were signs of the old stores, like the car repair shop hold-over that stood out of the block like a "what doesn't belong" problem from elementary school. I found a soup shop, where I got a fancy version of grilled cheese, and even fancier soup options, at somewhat fancy-shop prices. The day was grey and soggy, and me being cold as usual, needed something to warm me up. I went with the fancy-shop price and warmed up my extremities in a room full of neck-scarf and corduroy wearing gentlemen with jaunty caps, MAC books, and heavy conversations discussing projects undetermined. I fancy that these people live in lofts with CB2 furnishings, listen to music I've never heard of, and went to Universities with majors in English with a side of MBA. Its like going to a different country and learning about the local ways of life. I could be wrong.
