My favorite days are the ones I spend jumping around like a carefree child because the smallest thing made me happy. I've even been told that I do a "happy dance" in my seat while eating my favorite foods. Yes, I can often act pretty childish, but there is a difference between acting childish and simply being happy. I am undoubtedly the happiest on these days. The novelty of something monumental, while fantastic, will almost always fade rather quickly, the joy derived from it gone. It doesn't leave you unhappy, it's just that it is simply no longer a source of the same magnitude of happiness it once was.
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Sometimes I feel as though my creativity has run dry. I reach down into that reservoir of thoughts I take for granted, the one I always expect to be filled, overflowing with fresh ideas and language just waiting to be tapped, only to be greeted with a never-ending nothingness. A gaping hole, an empty feeling, yearning for something--anything--to fill it once more. Wondering how it could have been exhausted, how it could have escaped my notice. What happened? Where could it have gone? I feel lost without those thoughts. And without those fragmented stories and characters and scenes floating around my head, providing me company throughout the day, I am lost.
The stadium was packed.
Nearly overflowing with the motley crowd that had commandeered TD Garden on this chilly Boston Tuesday, it hummed with an unrivaled excitement. Fans clambered over seats in the semi-darkness as they searched for better views than the ones they had been assigned. Whether it was the floor, the stands, or the balcony, every available space was filled. Concert etiquette had long been forgotten--these people were here for one reason, and for one reason only. Vermont is my escape.
It is all too easy to romanticize the natural beauty of this sparsely populated state. The rolling hills and sprawling farmland, the viridian mountains and shimmering glassy lakes attest to a land frozen in time--a bubble of calm in an otherwise tempestuous world. Graced with the privilege of hosting few large cities, the intrinsic glory of the land is allowed to flourish with little impediment. The pace of life seems much more relaxed and sincere. The same cannot be said of neighboring states, many of which are overpopulated with bustling metal cities and scarred by mile after mile of blacktop and waste sites. My native state of New York is no exception to this. The air lacks that brisk quality, the greenery that vividness of color that I found in Vermont. I have no worries here, no nagging doubts about my future, but an unequivocal assurance that I am finally where I belong. I enjoy striving to strike a balance between poetry and prose, searching for poetic words and a fluidity of rhythm that fit within the structure of a story. It is all too easy to allow fancy and superfluous words to run away from you, resulting in a piece that is pretty to look at but is largely incomprehensible. Sensible and sparse language, on the other hand, can fall flat and turn banal and colorless. Finding a balance is not always easy, but when executed correctly, words morph into vivid images that imprint themselves on the mind, not to be easily forgotten.
As the latest winter storm rages on outside my window, my mind can't help but wander in and out of daydreaming. I see myself curled up on a couch in front of the warmth of a crackling fire, hands cradling a toasty mug of comforting hot chocolate. I settle deeper into the soft cushions, so thoroughly swathed in a cocoon of blankets I can hardly raise my arms to sip my soothing chocolaty drink. Some movie I can't name plays quietly on the television in the background, the artificial bluish light of the LCD screen clashing with the natural dance of the firelight. They play off each other, one casting rigid, flashing outlines on the wall behind me, the other projecting undulating, lively shadows all around the room.
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Who Am I?Introverted bookworm, vegan foodie, casual runner, writer/editor, envier of tiny houses, Hufflepuff/Pukwudgie, and self-declared nerd. Creating Order From Chaos
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Ye Olde Posts
December 2016
Slice of Life |