Raintalk

It began to rain, finally. The weather has been unusual the last few weeks, as it's usually supposed to start raining here in mid-September; but instead it remained strangely (and unsettlingy, shiver) sunny and clear until the day before yesterday, the eleventh of October.

I enjoy nice weather, but gray skies and wet pavement just feel so much more like home.

Also, it means I have a justified reason to wear sweaters and jackets and knit hats. I do love the chilly weather fashions.

Earl Grey

I'm still so intimidated when the great expanse of blank post sits in front of me on the screen, even so much later. It's been a year, or something, since I've written here, and I think all of my friends who are (were?) involved in writing in blogs here have since abandoned ship. Oh well.

Things have changed a little bit.

I don't want to be the cliché and do a quickfire rapid status report of my life, but that's probably the best. Let's do words instead of short explanations. That's fun.

Graduated. Terrible freshman year of college. Moved out. No job.

There you have it.

This place is probably safer now that no one reads it, which sort of defeats the purpose of having a public blog in the first place, I suppose... But there's something to be said about keeping something public a complete secret, you know? I doubt rather that anyone will come back to these journals unless I say something. I cling to the past a lot. I like remembering old friend-type projects that were at one point meant to get us all closer together.

It worked, to a certain extent, but some are further away now than others, and a slingshot action has brought others closer. I think I like that better. I'm learning who I can trust and who will give me blankets and water when I've drunk too much and am vomiting on the lawn, and who will block me on Facebook when things go my way instead of theirs.

I must come off incredibly bitter. I really, really try not to be.

Quite a lot's happened in the past year, like I said.

Jessie just said to me from the bottom bunk, "Hannah! Black people can vote! Isn't that splendid?!"

She's crazy, but she's also my best friend. Though sometimes I feel I want to throw her from a cliff (that isn't often. Normally I rectify such feelings by staring.) I really think that I would not have ever been able to make it through last winter. I was on a sure path of self-destruction, spurred on by a choked and mottled self-worth and the aftermath of what I intended to be a clean breakup. I lost around twenty pounds and picked up a few unsavoury habits, retreated into my blankets and proceeded to fail three classes, all after cutting my hair pixie short, because I hated myself.

I wonder these days if I still hate myself, because while I haven't slipped again into sink-into-the-ground clinical depression (yet) I keep waiting to do it. For the precipice. The abyss and I are good friends, and it was Jessie who unwittingly pulled me back from it before. I wonder if she'll do it again, if she knows what she's doing when she does. I think she probably knows. Our friendship is weird like that. She always knows.

I'm tired. I wonder when I'll feel awake again.

Pie!

Happy Pi Day.

I kind of write all of my entries during sixth period in the library at school.

Because my brother "accidentally" downloaded a "bad file" from a "friend," we have a virus, which severely impedes my ability to write on this blog.

But such is life.

But I sure wish I had a computer right now. A lot of things would be much, much easier if I could just type them out. If my fingers go faster, my brain does too, and that's why typing can be better than writing things out. But don't count out writing with a pencil. Pencils are very nice. Very, very nice.

Youth Symphony: I'm tired of it.

Pros of leaving:

• It would bring my total days with nothing after school to a whopping Two.
• Less things to practice.
• No more sitting in a room I don't want to be in and being kept there until an unreasonably late hour.
• More homework time.
• No more huge, gigantic, annoying skirt.
  

Cons of leaving:

• I would inevitably miss it.
• I like performing on a big stage.
• I have friends there.

Do the pros outweigh the cons? Maybe. Maybe I'll just stay until the end of this concert set and then leave in December. This is my least favorite kind of choice to make. I love making music and I would probably die if I couldn't do it, but it takes up all of my time. I am getting sick of having no free time during the week. So! Maybe I'll leave!

Maybe!

autumn is a fancy word for fall, which is what the leaves do.

I'm worried I write all the same thing all the time. Here, I mean. Not that I post a lot. I don't really post a lot. Before I complain, I should write more.

Um... never mind.

I think I post too much about writing. Maybe I do. Writing and the future. Those are things I think about. I think about writing and the future and literature and language and art and music. I don't want to be repetitive, but lately I've only thought about writing and literature?!

I don't really know what I'm saying. I think I left my words in my writing class notebook.

Well, today's a really good day! It's sunny outside. And the sky is really blue, the kind of blue that doesn't happen all the time. Also, the trees look like fire.

I'm also playing pokemon lately. My eevee isn't strong enough yet. I'm getting there. I'll surpass the strongest eevee ever.

Also, I want to post pictures.

The problem is I don't have a camera.

(First world problems)

I need to find some scissors because I want to make a thousand snowflakes and tape them to the walls.

Thought processes

So I was really pumped to write in this blog today now that I know that I actually have friends who will read it. I thought about it a lot. I was going to write something extraordinary! Something moving! Something amazing!

But then I came home and actually sat down in front of the computer with the 'Create Post!' box open.

Crap.

I couldn't write anything. Why didn't I think this through more.

So I did what I always do when I can't think of what to write: Watch WheezyWaiter videos on Youtube. Hooray!

And as I did this, I began to think about how my violin teacher would probably appreciate this humor even more than I, which led me to remember that I have yet to practice today. This prompted me to look at the time, which is currently 8:47 pm. I realized I don't have the time or daylight to practice tonight, and then I remembered that I have another music lesson tomorrow, which means I have no free time again.

Damn.

Being in high school is a pain in the ass.

But at least I have a certain shirt to sleep with tonight.

Tee hee!

I hope I don't become an English major.

So, I started taking a creative writing class this year, my senior year of high school. So far, I think I like it, apart from how I sit next to a person I would rather not share everything I write with, but that's a different story. The teacher's fantastic, the class is more than engaging, the prompts are interesting. But it seems strange to me in a way that's difficult to explain.

The teacher teaches writing to a class who already knows how to write, but he teaches like there's only one way to go about writing. His way is very structured and planned out and while that's very good and nice and I'm sure he's a fine writer, I don't think this is the way it should always be. I think writing is a subjective thing: sometimes you have it thought out and sometimes it just flows from your heart to your fingers and onto the page, or onto the screen. He teaches us about cliches and similes and metaphors and imagery and all of that stuff and how it can make your writing more colorful and interesting, but that's subjective as well. Style-based.

Sure, metaphors can be cool if dramatic explanations are what you go for.

"The rain fell from the sky in a biblical torrential downpour, bouncing off of leaves and soaking the earth."

Yeah, I can see how that can be more interesting than, "It rained."

But I like simplicity, if that makes sense. I like to take a minimalist approach to writing and make it as real as I can: One doesn't really see metaphors and similes in real life, as life isn't always interesting. Metaphors are used to spruce up the drab realities of things, really.

So if I were to describe that it were raining, I would do it more to set the stage than to go into violent detail about how the rain is so coming down in such a superabundant manner that it's speeding up the process of erosion or something.

"It was raining, and she began to walk to school."

It's simpler and truer and I like it better that way.