Blogs are impossible + bonus content
I’ve never been capable of maintaining a blog consistently. This very website is proof. My physically omnipresent journal is too.
I am never sure of what I am supposed to write, so I often start out with a title and go from there. A bit like how all my creative workings are birthed, now that I think more about it. So yeah, I am doing the International Baccalaureate and I just so happen to have returned from the first trip with my new class. Where we went and what we did is really irrelevant to this post, but how I felt about it is something I believe to be crucial.
The previous sentence sounds much more emotional that it’s supposed to be read as. Regardless, I had a great time on the trip. It’s a different experience with both new and known people, something which is always interesting. People always act different out of the confines of the classroom, and that is simply proven time upon time. Examples are not going to be given, so don’t get your hopes up.
I like people.
People are great, they’re a source of inspiration. Even when they call me out for pondering deeply, thinking I’m alone. Catching me staring into the darkness of space for a dozen minutes seems to appear slightly . . . Odd to a grand scheme of people. I don’t really care, attention is fine. I feel comfortable admitting that I’m pretty much a creativity-driven psychological masochist, it’s nothing too unorthodox. I can take advantage of a break-up in terms of creative expression, I can cling on to negative emotions without getting depressed — just so I can finish that poem or piece of prose. I don’t want to die knowing I could have – but hadn’t – completed that one, final work. My mind is a horrible place, and I mean that in almost every sense conceivable. I like people, but I don’t know if they like me. It’s rare people tell me they do, anyway.
Goodnight, imaginary readers.
