Because I Can

Day Twenty-Two: Why are you doing this blog challenge?

The simple answer is that I want to blog more. My poor blog was looking very neglected for a while, and because I couldn't think of anything clever to write about, I found a blog challenge that would give me set topics. That's why. And . . . that's about all there is to it.

My Catharsis

Day Seventeen: A picture of something that makes you happy.

These are five of my eleven completed journals. I just started my twelfth. Yes, I do have a ton of journals, and I love that I have a ton of journals. I also love that each one of my journals is much different than the others. I have goofy journals (like the Beatles one on top) that last me a month, and I have the more sophisticated, leather journals that last me up to a year. 

I have had multiple people tell me that buying journals is a waste of money. They say I should just buy cheap notebooks because they work just as well, or to type up my entries on my computer. But cheap notebooks fall apart and don't last. (That's why they're cheap.) And I don't want to type my journals. I've tried that before, and I don't like it. The act of writing, physically writing, in my journal is incredibly cathartic for me. It's a release. It's something I need everyday. I honestly sleep better when I write out my feelings before bed. It's kind of weird, but it's true.

I freely admit that I am a little obsessed with journals. I may have spent $70 on journals a couple of weeks ago. (It was worth it, I promise.) So seeing a pile of journals that I filled with my own hand makes me really happy. I love seeing that.

A new year, a new me.

Or something along those lines.

Hey look, it's the obligatory resolutions post. Sure, I'm about two weeks late, but I'm close enough, right?

So my resolutions have been rather fluid for this year. I have goals, but I don't think I thought of any of them as resolutions, per se. There were just things I knew I wanted to do with my life, and I happened to be thinking about them at around New Year's. So I guess they qualify.

My main goal is one that has been on my mind for a few months now, and I am proud to say that I am going strong after two weeks. I decided that I wanted to switch back to 24 Hour Fitness (mostly because I detested going to Gold's) and buy a few personal training sessions (if not more). In the last two weeks, I have only missed a single day of going to the gym. (Not counting Sundays, of course.) I'm pretty proud of myself, and if the scale is any indication, I've actually made some progress. Awesome, no? I sure think so. I'm also rediscovering that I quite love hopping on the elliptical and just going for an hour. It feels super good. I also enjoy that the machine tells me I burn about 700 calories when I do that.

Another goal I've been kicking around is blogging more. I was supposed to blog about dating and all that jazz, but right after I decided to do that, I actually started having real dating experiences. Well, more like hanging out experiences, but there were actually guys (er . . . guy . . . [you know, Der Junge]) that I was interested in. And as soon as I started thinking about writing about actual people, I chickened out a wee bit. I was mostly just terrified that things would get back to Der Junge and that I would be mortified. A bit juvenile, it's true, but alas, I can't help myself.

Instead of writing about dating, I've compiled a couple of blogging challenges to create one big challenge that should cover about 45 days. I've been meaning to start it, but I swear the amount of free time I have has been severely diminished somehow. It's probably because I've been getting up at 6:30 (most days) to work out and not getting home from work until 6:00. Any social activities usually take up my extra free time. However, I will find time to fit blogging in!

A third goal is to finally change my boy situation. Yes, I'm saying it: I WANT A BOYFRIEND. At some point this year, I want to end my drought. It's been coming up on five years (wow, look at me divulge potentially embarrassing information!) since I've been in a real relationship, and you know what? That is plenty long. I'm ready for something more than hanging out and flirting. Unfortunately, I am not in complete control of this goal, and I honestly have no idea what more to do to help my cause (with Der Junge in particular, but I'm definitely open to other prospects).

And there you have it. My goals for this year. Well, the biggies, anyway. Here's hoping I can make 2012 freaking awesome.

A Problem

Whenever December rolls around and I wrap up my thankful posts, I always have the hardest time thinking of things to post about. It's like all my blogging energy gets used up in the frenzy of November and I have nothing left for the next month.

Then there's finals week, which generally kills my social life because most of my friends lock themselves away in the library and bury themselves in their books.

And then it's Christmas break, which leaves me mostly alone in Provo/Magna while everyone heads off to their various Christmas destinations.

I will try my hardest to think of things to post about this month, but I can't guarantee anything, and for that, I apologize in advance.

Short (really short) Fiction

Look at me, doing another writing exercise so soon. I wonder how long this will last.

Battery

A man walks down the street, phone in hand. He walks five steps, then checks his phone. He walks seven steps, then checks his phone. He walks fifteen steps, the phrase "do not check the phone" on repeat in his head, before he can't take it anymore and checks the small, shining screen. His hopes and dreams lie in that seemingly innocuous device. One beep, one bar of that catchy song, could determine his future.

He continues walking, his wrist flicking and head tilting like some kind of twitchy dance, a dance that everyone around him knows and understands and mocks anyway. Look at that, they say. That piece of plastic and metal is like an extra appendage. I bet he couldn't put it down if you paid him. These people ignore the irony of their own bits of plastic and metal residing in purses and jeans pockets, accessible in a second if necessary.

The man continues his walk, heart pounding and hands sweating. He checks the phone once again, then transfers it to the other hnad. He walks. Tells himself he won't check the phone again. But he does.

The phone buzzes in his hand. That catchy tune starts up and the man's heart pounds nearly out of his chest. He fumbles the phone, finally managing to hit the correct button. He puts the phone to his ear, calls out a hello, when the battery dies.

An Attempt at Being Creative

I used to be a creative writer. I used to have notebooks full of my stories. I would take those notebooks and a contingent of pens with me wherever I went. I wanted to write a novel. Then I got into high school, and I got busy. Busier than I had ever been. I got into choir and drama and suddenly writing wasn't as important anymore. Then I went to college and the only time I wrote anything creatively was when it was required for a class.

But I want to change that. I want to write again. I've wanted to for a long time, but I just haven't gotten around to it. In all honesty, I'm not sure how much time I'll actually devote to it this time around, but I want to give it a shot. So I'm going to start doing some writing exercises, and I welcome any and all criticism.

I got this prompt from oneword.com, which gives one word (hence the name) and gives 60 seconds to just write whatever comes to mind. So here goes.

Bookshelf

It was bowing. I could see it—pulled down by the weight of the words, the pages, the binding. Books on top of books shoved behind books, a maze of ideas and concepts. New people and familiar places. Worlds I entered as a guest and exited as a true friend. This was my life, chronicled and complied and organized by author name. Some sections are frayed, the stitches pulling apart from the strain of opening and closing time after time. Other sections are pristine, lacking dents and folds and scrapes. Lacking character. Lacking love. Yet they sit there still—taking up precious shelf space simply by virtue of their being books. Books. That's what it's all about. My kaleidescope of interests staring me in the face day in and day out. I hold entire universes on those shelves. Universes that make up my own universe. My own world. My own home.

Being Thankful: Day Ten

I just started reading To Kill a Mockingbird for the first time. Shocking, I know, but I never had to read it for school, so I'm reading it for a book club instead. I'm only about 100 pages in (even though I have to finish by Saturday), but I already love it. Scout is simply awesome. I'm excited to read the rest and get to the really good parts of the story.

I have been reading for as long as I can remember. When I was little, I would sleep with books instead of with stuffed animals. I started reading adult novels of 700+ pages when I was nine or ten. I've always had a special interest in words and language and books. I've wanted to be a writer since I was seven, and that's still a goal I want to achieve someday. I'm hoping that at some point in my life I'll find enough inspiration to write a novel.

So today, I'm thankful for books. I'm thankful for brilliant authors who formulate fantastic ideas and turn them into beautiful literature. I'm thankful for snowy, cold weather that makes me want to just curl up under the blankets on the couch with a cup of cider and a good book. I'm thankful for my forever-long to-read list that keeps growing no matter how many books I read. I'm thankful for the books I love so much that I read them over and over again without getting tired of them. It's amazing what those who are proficient in the English language can do.

My Creative Juices Dried Up

I've noticed that I have a lot of friends who do hobby or semi-professional photography. I also noticed that a lot of my friends are super creative and funny writers, even just on Facebook. I also have a lot of friends who are really good at other visual arts.

I am good at none of these.

My creative juices have hit a major drought, apparently.

I miss writing. But I don't have any ideas to write about.

I also think photography is cool. I've wanted to learn to take cool photos for a really long time. But I don't know the first thing about photography, and I don't have Photoshop (though I do want CS5 really really really bad—maybe I'll get it soon, if a student friend of mine will let me use their educational discount).

I hate it when I have the urge to do something creative but have no inspiration and nothing to do. It makes me sad.

Thanks Day Six

Yesterday I was talking to my roommate and I was saying how I still needed to finish writing in my journal, even though I had already been writing for a couple of hours (not including what I started writing a few days before that and didn't finish). She seemed a little baffled when I told her that it usually takes me a few hours to finish writing in my journal because I write at least 10 pages each time I write. Sometimes I forget what an odd child I am. But I'm so grateful that I love writing in my journal. I've finished seven journals now (one being a two-inch three-ring binder), and I'm about 80 pages into my eighth. There's something about getting all of my thoughts and feelings out in ink that just makes me feel amazing. It's a type of catharsis for me. I often make discoveries about myself as I try to arrange my feelings on the page. I'm very thankful that I have a record of my life so I won't forget things, and so that hopefully my posterity can someday learn from my mistakes.