Bloggering

Sleep Sheep

I can't sleep. I can't sleep. It's 3:00am.

Kid Sam
Stolen Violin
and Bored Nothing

are just about the three bands that I am listening to during this sleepless night.

I haven't been able to wake up any earlier than 10:00am each day. I can't sleep at night and I fear that I have returned to my vicious cycle. When I return to the south this will be a difficult habit to break. I should break it now. Which means that in the next few hours I will be helplessly dragging myself out of bed, onto the floor, into the bathroom to shock myself with cold water, enough to sustain my travel to the kitchen in which I will muster the energy to brew a strong cup of joe to keep me alive for the remainder of the morning. Yes, that is how my morning shall go.

Happy-Unhappy

Things that make me happy:

Fat babies

Tickling Chris
The smell of magnolia trees

Soft towels

Writing

Brisk walks

Hot chocolate on a foggy afternoon

Cuddling (only when it's cold) 

A good read

Hugging my mom

Acting my shoe size
Board games with my crazy family

Good Grades

A heart to heart conversation with someone I didn't know too well

Discovering new artists

Climbing trees

Picking at tidepools

Laying out in the sun

Towels fresh out of the dryer

Fresh baked anything

Late night walks

Catching up with old friends

Dorky photographs 

Listening to stories about my elders when they were young
Grandparents

Things that Christopher believe make me happy

Christopher Ramos

Chocolate

Candy

Fluffy Bunnies
Star Wars (4-6)

Star Wars Art

Being Beautiful

Arts and Crafts ( i wont admit it unless under pressure )

Biting Chris' and babies cheeks

playing (learning) music

driving with loud music (aerosmith & red hot chili peppers)

Painting - in solitude

facebook(GUILTY)

attacking from the east
Dancing in my car pretending like I'm in Las Vegas

Shit that makes me unhappy:

When Last.fm plays tUnE-YaRds when I clearly banned that shit from my radio

When all my shit falls out of my purse while driving because I forgot to zip it closed

When they don't put Marschino cherries in my Shirley Temple, what is that shit?

Shit that makes other people unhappy:

Ugly toenails

When someone likes their own facebook statuses

When someone tags themselves in their own pictures

When girls paint their nails all different colors, it makes them look emotionally unstable

I used to write.

A lot.

Now I find it more difficult than ever. Recently I have been beyond insecure about my writing. I write paragraphs, single paragraphs, and before I can finish the last sentence I erase the entire paragraph in regret.  I can't seem to utter the right words anymore or pinpoint my exact feelings. Something changed.

Maybe it was my transition into a university? I don't know. Maybe I became so distracted by my academic writing that I forgot what it feels like to write narratives.

I remember how amazingly free it felt to write in my creative writing class. I didn't mind writing and reading my work aloud. And now, now I can't imagine reading something of mine to a friend, let alone a co-worker, a classmate, or a complete stranger. I encourage people everyday to make decisions, to run with their thoughts and write what they feel. I ask that people make bold decisions and assertions and to make their voice be heard, because after all, their voice counts - their voice means something. Yet, why can't I get myself to take my own advice?

I'm afraid that I've lost my voice.
I need to keep writing or else I feel as if I am never going to regain my voice.

When I first met Christopher, I spent so much time analyzing the value systems of others. I once wrote in a blue book to a professor about beliefs:
 "Dear Professor, this topic literally scared the shit out of me. Mostly because I have spent the later half of my life vacillating on the fence about my beliefs and on day one you have asked that I get off the fence." Yadda Yadda. I took philosophy and literature courses to understand the perceptions of others, to gain insight of the minds that have, likewise, questioned the motions of life.  And here I am, lucky me, standing off the fucking fence realizing that the most valuable things to me are: my voice, the freedom of voice, and love.

I'm just having some trouble writing it out.

Ill.

Up past midnight, reading Gulliver's Travels while I cough to the point of perfecting the muscles in my abdomen. It's that bad. Coughing requires use of my entire body, so I've developed upper back pain and muscle tension in my abs. Egh.

I sleep a good four to five hours without severely coughing. I'd like to think I'm slowly walking downhill to the tail-end of this inevitable cold. I wish I had different flavors or tea and a well stocked pantry with different kinds of soup. God, I am so sick of soup.

I keep thinking about starting another book club. I only have one month of vacation and I'm already sick of the inactivity. I read Jane Eyre for a moment, and my Mother is right, Bronte trumps Austen without question. However, I left my book in my boyfriend's car and had to pick up another book. Here we are Gulliver's Travels...

I feel.. unlike myself. Brainwashed, as if I cannot make any decisions for myself without some odd intervention of a stranger, a salesperson, or a mongrel. Sometimes I feel that I would be better suited on a farm, or in the mountains away from a superficial world. What I do know? :T

Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Pinky?

Have you ever stayed up all night contemplating what is required of you to change the world?

Maybe it doesn't have to be something as large at the world. It could be something like changing a habit that will affect your overall life and possibly the lives around you. I spend so much of my time at night contemplating things that I can do differently. It's quite rare that I sit in my bed and think to myself, "Ah, I have achieved all the things I anticipated today. Good for you, Lauren!"

Nope, I can't recall such a night.
Is it bad to not quite accomplish all that you aspire to each night? I write to-do lists constantly in order to gratify myself. I don't feel like I've been the slightest bit productive unless I write something down and erase it upon completion. That isn't to say that I go to bed each night battering myself into thinking that I'm inadequate. No, it's not that. Every night I just feel like there is more to be done and that apart of my gift of life includes consistent thought processes and action.

I suppose I should take more action than use time contemplating it.
Yes, more action, indeed.

Goodnight.

OVER IT.

I don't know what I'm over. Whatever it is, I'm jumping over it.

My indecisive mind is all over the place. I had way too much tea today, so that resulted in me laying in bed contemplating whether or not to get up or force myself to sleep.

First, I thought I should work on my essay.
Second, I thought about reading Jane Eyre.
Third, I debated on writing.
Fourth, I thought of painting my nails.
Fifth, well at this point I just told myself to get the hell up because I'm clearly not going to get any sleep this way.

Rediscovering old paintings, unfinished comics, drawings and notes to myself with little ideas, finally led me to realize that there isn't enough time in the world. I have so many ideas written down, books I've wanted to write, stories that I've wanted to paint, and overall inventions. At times I feel like my imagination is shedding away. I rediscover and realize that I've neglected it and they all remain in the pages of blogger.com or sketch books crammed in my bookshelf.

Whatever it is that I'm over, please don't let it be my ideas.