Late night thoughts are the only ones that truly make me feel listened to. The silence makes everything louder, even if it's in my head.
I've been having issues falling asleep. I'm not sure what it is, possibly the cups and cups of tea I drink in the evenings just because it comforts me, the way the warm, subtle taste seeps into my body. I've been drinking caffeine at night since I can remember, so I doubt that's the reason. Maybe my head is just so full of things to do and things to say. I'm not sure.
I started a tumblr and I kind of love it. I wish I was following more. But looking around, I also feel this desire to be more original than linking other people's words and thoughts, even if I share them. Even if this little bit of humanity we've built of ones and zeroes is a shared connection.
Found I Wrote This For You and think it's a wonderfully, heartbreakingly lovely idea. I was going to do the picture a day for 2009, and just fell in love with this idea. Whispered secrets accompanying photographs of my mundane existence. It might not be huge, but some nights my heart is so full and there is no release.
I feel like I carry my past in ways that most people shrug off. Not that my past is grand or even extraordinary in any way, but it's mine. My laughter and tears. My loves. My heartbreaks.
Someone wrote about how they live for the future and never really think about the past. I feel I balance the two well enough, and leave my present someplace unspoken. That's probably not the best decision to make; to live my past, dream about my future, and forget my present.
I think it's just the idea of sharing myself with faces I recognize that scares me the most. The anonymous visitor I do fine with; the stranger on the street, but the idea of someone who actually knows me, to know me? That frightens me the most. I hide in my caveats of the internet and try not to connect them too much.
Two thousand nine is fast approaching, and with it, my idea of myself. I've always separated the different parts of my life. New and old. Family and friends. Nothing mixed, and when they did, I felt lost and abandoned. Judged.
Maybe it'll be okay for someone to understand a hint of me without me knowing them. It's a little scary, but hopefully worth it, and maybe even necessary since the last few months of two thousand nine will be spent abroad, and away from anything familiar and comforting.
I've been having issues falling asleep. I'm not sure what it is, possibly the cups and cups of tea I drink in the evenings just because it comforts me, the way the warm, subtle taste seeps into my body. I've been drinking caffeine at night since I can remember, so I doubt that's the reason. Maybe my head is just so full of things to do and things to say. I'm not sure.
I started a tumblr and I kind of love it. I wish I was following more. But looking around, I also feel this desire to be more original than linking other people's words and thoughts, even if I share them. Even if this little bit of humanity we've built of ones and zeroes is a shared connection.
Found I Wrote This For You and think it's a wonderfully, heartbreakingly lovely idea. I was going to do the picture a day for 2009, and just fell in love with this idea. Whispered secrets accompanying photographs of my mundane existence. It might not be huge, but some nights my heart is so full and there is no release.
I feel like I carry my past in ways that most people shrug off. Not that my past is grand or even extraordinary in any way, but it's mine. My laughter and tears. My loves. My heartbreaks.
Someone wrote about how they live for the future and never really think about the past. I feel I balance the two well enough, and leave my present someplace unspoken. That's probably not the best decision to make; to live my past, dream about my future, and forget my present.
I think it's just the idea of sharing myself with faces I recognize that scares me the most. The anonymous visitor I do fine with; the stranger on the street, but the idea of someone who actually knows me, to know me? That frightens me the most. I hide in my caveats of the internet and try not to connect them too much.
Two thousand nine is fast approaching, and with it, my idea of myself. I've always separated the different parts of my life. New and old. Family and friends. Nothing mixed, and when they did, I felt lost and abandoned. Judged.
Maybe it'll be okay for someone to understand a hint of me without me knowing them. It's a little scary, but hopefully worth it, and maybe even necessary since the last few months of two thousand nine will be spent abroad, and away from anything familiar and comforting.
