Keeping a journal.
You know how people are always like, "I can't keep a journal because I forget to write in it"?
I don't think I've ever said anything like that before. I mean, this shouldn't come as a shock to you. I write just about every thought I ever have down in one notebook or another. Whether it be the black book I keep bedside for jotting random middle-of-the-night fragments down, or for the small details I feel should be kept safe in another book, information privy to only the man I one day marry (insert adorable audience approval, here).
I have several notes on my cell phone as well: baby names, grocery lists, passwords, seemingly insignificant thoughts from my brain, lines from books, lines from professors, as well as from the unknowingly poetic minds of people I don't even know the names of... sometimes I even write down conversation snippets of people I stand behind in line at the grocery store. I'd like to share some of these with you now:
"Lately, all of my prayers begin with, 'Dear God. When you put another man in my life, please let him not be an idiot' and then, we usually have a conversation about the men in my life, who are, in fact, idiots."
"I will always remember what it looked like as I watched you watch me walking away."
"Because Friday is often a cry for help."
"Sometimes making a mess is all that makes her happy." (Isn't this one beautiful? It was a Facebook status update of a girl I went to middle school with. She has a baby girl and was actually making a remark on how sometimes, the only thing her little girl wants to do is empty cupboards, banging around pots and pans on the kitchen floor. It revealed complex truths about my own life. Sometimes, I want to make a mess of it for no reason at all. Sometimes, that just makes me feel better because it means I'm getting somewhere, and it means that I'm not standing stagnant.)(This is why I have a hard time deleting people from Facebook, even if I rarely speak to them. Every once in a while, they actually say things I can use.)
"I saw Cassiopeia tonight for the first time this year and decided to have We Found Love play at my wedding because I'm sometimes equal parts trashy and classy. And I feel like Rihanna is, too."
"One day, someone is going to look at me the way Don Lockwood looks at Kathy Seldon. He's going to think I'm quirky and laugh when I embarrass myself, and we're going to be twisted together in a happy sort of way."
"And then, I wondered if I only liked him because he was tall enough for me to stand next to, while at the same time wearing heals."
"He was pernicious."
"You, with your honeyed words."
--Emma Morley, One Day
Elusively. Doesn't that word just sweeten your tea? I wrote it down a while ago because I thought there couldn't be a prettier word. The sound of it reminds me of a snake that's so slippery, you can never quite catch it. It's an onomatopoeia and I reeeally liked that.
"Loneliness is character building. It is also a bitch."
"Oh, you should see your face."
"Whats the matter with it?"
--Cary Grant to Audrey Hepburn in Charade
"Imagine a day where you forget how to fall."
--Sarah L. Thompson, Imagine A Day
"Love and hate are two horns on the same goat, Eugenia. And you need a goat."
--Kathryn Stockett's The Help
"Look at that arm chair, just dirty with age."
"There's something pleasant about his mouth when he speaks."
"You want clean hands and clean fingernails. Why? Because nice boys and nice girls have clean hands and clean fingernails. Nice boys and nice girls have nice manners, and are very clean."
My british professor last semester walked around the classroom barefoot, wearing champaign dress socks. I always tried to write about that, but never found the proper place to do so because I wasn't sure what else I had to say about it. I realized, though, that maybe nothing else needs to be said. It gave you an intriguing image, so it did its job, I think.
"Four minutes and thirty-three seconds of silence. How long does that take to write?"
Another professor told the class, all 340 of us, that he didn't have his wallet on him, that it was in the backpack behind him. I couldn't stop thinking about the possibility of us, all 430 of us, running to the front of the room in pursuit of the wallet. We could be a mob! And we could easily dominate this guy. He's pretty small. The man wears pants that are too big for him and has one of those chords that attaches to your glasses and wraps around the back of your neck. He wouldn't be able to protect himself against a bunch of money-hungry students. After all, he was only one, and we were 340. And after I had that thought, I decided I should slow down with all of The Walking Dead catch up that I've been doing lately.
"One day, I'm going to get rid of all the pens in my pen jar that don't have ink in them anymore." (This is another one of those things. Doesn't it say so much about the way we live?)
By the way, I wrote my article regarding an interview I had with one Dr. Jixun Zhan. We talked about Biological Engineering, gene cloning, scientific research, and oddly, I had a fantastic experience. I think I'll write for the newspaper more often. Mostly because it's part of my job, and I don't have a choice, but also because I really do enjoy it.