Important, Matters

So, being the author of three blogs, I think it's pretty obvious I like writing. Even before my blogs, ppl knew it was something I enjoyed. I apparently have a lot to say, and thanks to the net & comps, I have the opportunity to get it all out. While I'm a bit technologically challenged, writing has always been my thing, since I was very young.

Growing up, I used to save my hand written writings in an old shoe box on the top shelf in my closet. The box was sacred to me, housing all my thoughts, hopes & dreams, voiced emotions I couldn't get out elsewhere. I had no other copies but those inside. It was a bit tattered, being that it had years of handling, still it was in fair condition. It sat up on that shelf, never collecting dust, b/c I was always taking it down to add to it, as I would write quite frequently.
For an adolescent, there wasn't anything more important in the world. My whole life was in that box.

Then, after my very first day of high school, I came home to a spotless bedroom. Opening the door to my dwelling, I immediately freaked out at the sight of a made bed, a cleared desk, and a sighted floor, knowing instantly that my OCD mother had been where she shouldn't have. Instincts took over and I dashed to the closet, flung the door open, to find all my clothes organized by season and color staring back at me (y'know that feeling you got when watching Sleeping With the Enemy, when Julia opens the cabinet to find the canned goods meticulously organized? Yeah, that was me, 100% terrified.).

Looking at the top shelf, I let out a loud and frantic "MOOOOOM??!!!!!"
She hollered back at me in answer, and I went rushing to the other side of the house.
"You cleaned my room. Fine. But where's my stuff?"
"What stuff? There was only trash in that room."
I felt my chest tighten.
"Dear God, please don't tell me you threw it away. My shoebox. The one on the top shelf. Just tell me you moved it."
"...I threw it away."

It was a very bad day for me, as if the first day of school as a freshman wasn't hard enough. The conversation that followed was one filled with tears, and frantic screaming. The trash had already been picked up, so any hope of retrieving what was rightfully mine was lost. Mom said that she didn't know it was so important to me, that she hadn't known my writings were in that box. Said she didn't even look, she just started to throw stuff away.
Who throws away a box without looking to see what's inside first?
A mom fed up with her clutter attracting teenager, that's who.
Lesson, children: ALWAYS.LOOK.IN.THE.BOX

I mean, sure, my issues of my teenage days wouldn't nearly amount to anything I've been through in recent years as an adult, nor would my writing compare, but that stuff was at one point important to me, and that's why it matters.

I was talking to a new friend the other day, and we were talking about the possibility of her starting her own blog. She said that all her composition had only ever been depressing, and usually about guys, and that it was just silly stuff. I said so what, and explained that if it's important to her, then it's not silly. Everyone needs an outlet. Whether that outlet be dancing, singing, painting, cooking (*drools*) or whatever, everyone should have one. Whether that form of outlet is important to others shouldn't matter in the slightest.

It's like with my friend Daniel, who also has a blog here, he writes about computers and software. My first initial thought was, "Who wants to read that crap? It's boring." Well, apparently, alot of ppl want to, and it makes him feel good about himself, even if no one's reading it b/c he's letting out what's important to him. Whether it is to anyone else or not is besides the point.

So, whether anyone gets around to reading this, whether one day I make it big, or just continue to write for the hell of it, I'm glad I do it. It fees good to get it all out. The countless hours of being up in the middle of the night, processing my thoughts into composition are not regrets of mine, b/c it is through those writings I learn about myself, and grow. This is what is important to me; and the important things, are all that should matter. :)

Windows & Wishing - Intro

When I was a sophomore in high school, taking junior and senior Lit classes, there was one particular cluster of days that stood out to me. We had to, in several subject classes, keep a daily journal. That, I think, was preparation to do so and carry the routine on after our student careers. The trait has obviously stuck with me, being that this is the third of my official blogs.

When you are forced to write, and conditioned to will your pen at the ring of a tardy bell, your mind often draws a blank. What to write about? So, we were regularly given topics to write on. Stupid stuff, serious stuff, just stuff in general. Usually we were to write about things related to the curriculum, other times we were to just write about life.

However on some days, these days being my favorite, there was what we adopted as "a stream of consciousness." I loved it. Your mind could draw a blank, and you were allowed to write about that blank. More often than not, it lead to humor and class cut up. But sometimes, it left room for inspiration, the jump start and warm up to something real. It was strange how well it worked. Almost as if they (those wiser than we: teachers) planned it that way.

I favored it b/c in that one instance, my mind flowed with my pen. My thoughts generally always race faster, but on these days, my best days, my pen, my mind and the thoughts within could keep up with each other.

I'd jump from one subject to the next and it wouldn't matter. There were no rules. None to the grammar, none to the etiquette, none to the generalization that words or phrases belong in a certain place.

None at all.

I always threw my hand eagerly into the air to volunteer to read my thoughts aloud. Sometimes I'd get really awkward looks, other times I'd get rude comments. Sometimes I'd get sympathy, twice there was applause. Once I even got my neighbor to snort like a pig and my professor to cry from laughing so hard. It just worked out great that way.

Stream of consciousness.

Those were the days I could truly be myself.

That's what these days will be :)

I hope you decide to come along on these days and peer through the windows of my mind. It is my wish that it invokes in you your very own journey through your wishes and windows <3