Sometimes, I feel as though the only reason I write is because a lot of the time, I get lonely, and very bored, and writing is one of the best balms for both such ailments.
Characters, for instance when you are lost in their worlds and troubles, help you feel less alone, even if only temporarily (and isn’t that the case with people in real life, as well Continue reading Why Do I Write?
Well, I was going to come up with some snazzy thing to write about for today’s blog post, but inspiration seems to have taken a dive into the proverbial garbage bin (what do you mean there’s no such thing as a proverbial garbage bin?) so I decided to just spill some of the most recent thoughts that have been running through my mind, just for the heck of it. Continue reading A Little Ramble
Being an idealist in this world is a bit like being able to see unicorns popping out of rubbish bins and from behind walls which no-one else seems to notice. A lot of the time, even when you’re down in the dumps, you go around with a big smile on your heart because unicorns are appearing and grinning at you from everywhere, but because only you can see them people either think you’re crazy or refer to you as a “dreamer”–and in condescending rather than complimentary tones. Continue reading The Traumatic Life Of Idealists
It’s always the first step that is the hardest, the first word, the first act, the first step out the door, the first ring of the alarm bell in the morning. I don’t know what it is about starting things that human beings find so difficult, but it seems to be the way our brains are hardwired: at the prospect of imminent work, and therefore pain–because work, even work we love, is not always very fun (and sometimes even very painful)–some part of us, deep inside, closes up tightly like a Venus Flytrap, and refuses to cooperate. Continue reading On The Nature Of Work
I feel as though there has been a lot of darkness in society of late, or maybe it has always been there and I was too young and too naïve to notice it.
Either way, it’s there, and it’s not nice, and once again it is something I can’t quite exactly put into words; it’s more of a feeling, you see, than an actual thing I can point at and cry “O Therein lies the darkness!” So, fair warning, most of this post is probably not going to make much sense—not unless you’ve also felt an inkling of the same darkness I’m referring to. Continue reading There’s Something Wrong–Something.
I don’t think I will ever grow up. It’s a nasty business, growing up, if you ask me, at least the kind of “growing up” society wants you to partake in. I don’t mind having to work during particular and set hours, as it provides a sense of order to life—that’s a nice aspect of growing up, even though most don’t seem too fond of it—provided one choose one’s work wisely. Continue reading I Refuse To Be A Grown-Up
I used to tell myself that nothing outside of yourself—money, accolades, spouse, children, possessions—can make you happy, sometimes more than once a day, if I was feeling especially lonely, and then, in accordance with this philosophy, I would retreat into my imagination, like a princess returning to her high tower overlooking the kingdom, from where I would silently disdain, with upturned lip, the earthly attachments other people seemed so partial to. Continue reading Perchance, to dream?