In the grand scheme of life, the universe, and everything, human existence has lasted no longer than a mere blink of an eye. Every form of life on Earth--even Earth itself--has been nothing more than a blip in the lifespan of the universe. And if the Earth can seem so ephemeral, so insignificant, then surely words of all things become meaningless. Languages are always changing, adapting to geography, evolving with each era. A single word subjected to the whimsy of time could never be truly important, could it?
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Music never fails to provide me with an overpowering sense of calm. The familiarity of the lyrics and the rhythm of the notes are enough to placate any fears I ever have. Any negative mood can be instantly rectified with the right song. During my desperate battle against last night's storm, I discovered that Of Monsters and Men's Little Talks is my perfect long sought-after defense.
Sometimes I find it difficult to explain to others exactly why I am pursuing a degree in writing. No, it is not a generic English degree with some creative writing specialization. It is a writing degree, specifically tailored to those who wish to write. My decision seems a little out of the blue, even to myself. I often question whether or not I have what it takes to ever be classified as a writer. Everyone has that one, unattainable dream, don't they? Now and again I fear that this may be mine. What if I have made the wrong decision? What if I fall short?
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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 |