Saturday, 26 January 2013

I am a horrible blogger.

Today I was bored at work so I went through my normal things to do when I'm bored. I checked Facebook. I checked my email. I checked to see if anyone was online to talk to. I even resorted to stumbleupon. Eventually I found my way back here, and when reading through my old posts I realized why I am such a horrible blogger.

First, I blog for myself. I write myself little inside jokes and inside stories so that when I go back and read it later, I wil lbe able to understand the full meaning of what I wrote. Well let me tell you, when reading my old posts, I have no clue what I'm talking about. The thing is, if I don't know what I'm talking about, then how are you, my reader(s??), supposed to get anything out of what I'm writing? You won't.

Second, I spend the majority of the time apologizing for not updating my blog enough, which in itself doesn't cound as a blog post. You don't need to waste your time reading it, and I shouldn't waste my time writing it. Instead, I should actually try to write stuff.

Thirdly, and this ties in with the first, if I actually intend to blog, then I need to be willing to post things about me online. I don't mean addresses and phone numbers and things like that. I mean that if i want a story to be interesting and to actually reflect what is going on in my life, I need to actually give details, not "this was a night to remember *insert shifty eyes*" It's dumb and it micks you for not being there.

This is not me promising that I'm posting more. Not even in the slightest. Actually, if anything, I would start a new blog. One that doesn't have all of the backlog of dumb one sided stories that, lets be honest, were contrived and uninteresting to you and I. If I do end up starting a blog, or even focusing on my baking/cooking blog, I will be sure to let all of you few readers know. Don't expect this anytime soon, but this might just be the outlet I need right now.

Thanks for still reading
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Tuesday, 14 August 2012


Memories are constantly distorted. The more we remember them, the less like the past they become. We mold them to form what we wanted them to become. But by doing so, we have incorrect perceptions of what occurred.

I commonly remember things better than they actually were. An event that could have been fun, but nothing special, I will remember as an extraordinary night. Because of my high perceptions of the past, I hold the present and future up to the standards of my glorified past. I set goals higher than anything that would ever be possible. The problem is that once something is actually as amazing as the original event that I'm comparing it too, it doesn't get as much credit as it should.

My distorted memories lead to a very disappointed life. The worst part is that I know what I'm doing but am unable to remold old memories.

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Monday, 23 July 2012

Night to Remember

You know those days that start out as normal days but morph into something so much greater? Today was one of those days.

As someone who is going to leave her hometown in about a month now, I keep having the feeling that I don't actually know St. Paul. Also, that I don't have enough time to do anything about it. Tonight was different.

It felt as though the gods of time slowed everything down so that my friends and I could jam all the fun things we wanted into one night.

Thank you for a night to remember,
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Sunday, 22 July 2012

If I Close My Eyes

Some days, I use the dark canvas of my eyelids to paint of a picture. To travel back in time.

As the image springs to life I can feel you there, standing beside me. I can smell the old familiar fragrances, wafting my way.

But as I open my eyes, I snap back to reality.

I don't remember the big moments. I just remember little things. Little snippets of time captured like 3D pictures that envelope me.

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Writing Tiers

I write constantly. I know that this blog isn't proof of that. But I do. I have journals full of scribbles and drawings and ideas that will never be completed. 

I have tiers of things that I write.

I have Facebook. The lowest tier. I put phrases or ideas that I like, but that I don't care much about. Things that can't be related to people or things.

Then Twitter. Higher than Facebook only because less people follow me on Twitter than on Facebook. But due to the lack of space in Twitter space, I don't post anything more than, again, phrases or ideas.

Next. Here. This is where I take ideas that I've been mulling over and I try to explain myself. I don't always post everything here. Sometimes there are things that I would need to say out loud to get my point across and I have to resort to talking to friends *gasp.* I like writing on my blog. But I hold the same principle of Facebook or Twitter. I will never post names, unless I've talked directly to that person. I reference people, but not always. It's very common for me, in my writing, to use the pronoun 'you' without actually talking directly to someone. I just like the idea of talking directly to someone. I also don't like to reveal too much about myself and my personal life, again, for people's privacy.

Lastly, my own journals. Which none of you, or anyone, will ever see. My brain likes to hold phrases and ideas inside until it feels like it's going to burst. My journals become an extension of my brain and I write everything down that I can think. It's like having a conversation with myself. It sounds slightly delusional, but it's just how I have to think things through sometimes.

Thanks for reading again, I'll try to start posting some of my actual writing, instead of hoarding it!
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Sunday, 6 May 2012

I Am Fake

How long will it take you to realize.
To realize I never say what I mean.
That I'm never truthful or honest.

How long will it take you to leave me.
To walk away from someone you trusted.
Someone who lied about everything.

Why haven't you noticed yet?
I cry and scream but you never hear.
These tears are useless, you won't see.

I wish you could help.
Help fight the rush of terror,
Or hold back the surge of memories.

I'm sorry for all the times I've lied.
All of the excuses I've made,
Worrying about what you'd say.

I am fake.
I've been fake for so long,
I don't know how to be real.

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Monday, 20 February 2012

Little Moments

We are constantly passing each other unknowing who we are by and who we are affected.

We do not know when that person, the one, could be standing next to us in line at a grocery store. Or in our neighbor's house. Or deciding that they are giving up on love.

We have no way of knowing what decisions will ruin our lives or save them.

But there are moments in our lives where we realize that the world is bigger than what we think. That there are other people orbiting around us. That we are small and insignificant but that every breath we take makes a difference.

Everything counts. There's no way of knowing whether one mistake will matter, or whether the other mistake will matter.

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