Isn’t it funny how the first post written is always the one I have the least to say in?
You would think I would have something profound to say, yet- I don’t. I just don’t want this blog to look all nakey while I’m trying to get in the habit of blogging again.
I have been trying to decide if I want this to be a personal blog or art or whatnot… finally I figured it was best to have it be a catchall. So it’s going to be home to my ramblings and my art.
Well, for starters: I have a job interview w/ Sentara tomorrow! That makes me very happy because I’ve been thinking about going back to them lately. The pay didn’t suck and the hours were much better than NLG. This job would be in a dr’s office and not the hospital though, so that would be the only adjustment for me. On the plus side, I could wear cute scrubs and not only teal and white like the hospital made me.
I’m trying to start reading more, too. Yesterday I reread “The Lovely Bones” by Alice Sebold because of the new movie coming out soon… I wanted to make sure I remembered the book correctly and wasn’t brainwashed by the movie. I think this makes 6 times I’ve read it now. And yes, I read it in 1 day. This might explain the migraine I woke up with.
Today I read (reread?) “The Bell Jar” by Sylvia Plath — I’ve had the book for years, and I know I read it when I got it but for some reason I couldn’t remember a word of it… yet I distinctly remember listing it before as a favorite. So I obviously liked it at some point in time. Like I said, I reread it today and I really did enjoy it. I found myself relating to Esther in so many ways (not the bad, in an asylum, ways)- how she lost her father at such a young age and directly says that because she never went to his funeral it’s like she never actually grieved for him. There were more instances, but they’ve slipped my mind now. At the end there’s a small biography on Sylvia Plath, and I also thought it was interesting because there is a quote from her husband about how when she first started writing poetry she would sit with a thesaurus and pick her words carefully and by time she got in her final depressed state she would just sit down and pretty much pound out a poem as if it were pouring out of her and she weren’t thinking about the words coming out of the pen. I’m expanding on the words, that’s no where near a direct quote. But that definitely struck a chord with me. When I used to write poetry that is exactly how I wrote. At first I would take my time, and think and repeat the lines in my head to hear how they sounded and if they were what I wanted… and the more depressed I got (this was as a teenager), the less I would do this and finally I was at a stage where I would just sit down and write whatever came out. It just happened to come out in the form of a poem, and I think my best poems were when I was in that stage, sadly. Maybe the the reason I don’t write poetry anymore is because I have been nowhere near that depressed in years? That’s definitely a good thing, but God how I wish I could write like I used to. I miss how free writing used to make me feel. The power I felt after writing a poem I was proud of, knowing the meaning behind it when I knew that most others would not.
Hmm… perhaps I’ll give writing a shot again and see what happy writing feels like.