A Breakdown Apparently
Jk... Well kind of... Let me explain. As I am in my inaugural year of college, I found myself equally busy and bored; both satisfied and dissatisfied with the way things have been going. Now, what could I do about it??Apparently making a blog to vent, rant and discuss what I decided to do. I feel as though no normal 18 year old is completely comfortable telling even their closest friends everything about themselves and their problems, at least none that I know. On the other hand, journals really only get you so far. As petty as it sounds, my damn hands cramp and the handwriting just continuously gets worse throughout, and that is just unacceptable. Now seeing as I have no problem telling my thoughts to complete strangers, typing it down seems to be the safest route; though I didn't want this to become the next Read It and Weep, so I guess I assumed a place where all the writings could be contained would be best. Plus tumblr is not even a real blogging website anymore....So here we are.
Something that's been on my mind for a hot minute is how much I really enjoy reading, but it may very well be the single most inconvenient activity ever. I could (and have) wasted hours on a book when I could be doing basically anything that would even remotely diminish the enormous work load I seem to have on my plate. Not to say that I necessarily mind it, but there's never exactly a "good" time to read. Coffee shops? I could be doing homework. Library? You guessed it, homework. Back in my dorm? I should be sleeping. Outside on a nice day? CMON I need to spend some time being really in the present moment AND EXPERIENCING ALL OF THE NATURAL BEAUTY IN THE WORLD I HAVE NO TIME FOR THESE PAPER WORDS. But really, when it has come down to it, I love reading, and I think that is the problem. Looking back at my high school AP English courses we read so many books that, at the time, I absolutely dismissed as a waste of my time and awful. However in reality, I loved those books. Beloved - Toni Morrison, Atonement - Ian McEwan, even The Brothers Karamazov - Fyodor Dostoevsky all made me grow as a person, question who I was, and what I believed in.. How is it that books give us more power than we give ourselves? I'm not entirely sure to be honest.