For awhile now I have been keeping a journal for the sole purpose of writing down and brainstorming writing ideas, but after starting this blog and taking Prose classes, I think I’m going to miss writing about myself. So I started a journal to write about myself and all of the stupid things I get myself into because I often forgot things because I am surprisingly unobservant. So now my journal is a mix of writing ideas and entries all about me.
The issue is that I have a weird thing against writing to absolutely no one, so I decided to write to my future grandchildren. (If I ever even have any). My poor grandchildren are going to be scarred because technically, I’m writing to them from the dead as I am not going to give it to them until I’m dead because the stories are awkward and they need to be older to really understand. And also, I would have really enjoyed reading journals and learning more about my Nana’s life before and after she died. I’m just being considerate here, people.
So far I have one entry and I started off describing myself and it turned into a rant about how they won’t even be able to read it because they won’t know what cursive is. I mean, hello!? Cursive is my favorite thing to do ever. I practice all the time and write in my journal in cursive and even though it takes about ten times slower than it would if I wrote it shorthand or typed it, it looks better and makes me feel all fancy-like. But then I promised that I would teach them or if I somehow died before they could write, then I would make my children promise me to teach them on my death bed. I don’t want ignorant grandchildren. And then I called them dumbasses and decided I’m already disappointed in their generation.
We’ll have to see how long this lasts because too often I find myself getting really excited about an idea and then kind of forgetting about it. I’m going to blame my generation’s reliance on instant gratification and impatience and not that I am just too lazy to follow through with things. But I’ll do it for the children, especially the offspring of my own.
Also, I decided that I want to live in Barnes and Noble because whenever I’m there I get this tingly feeling (not in a creepy way) and I just feel so inspired and want to write great things like a mermaid epic, legitimately an epic novel focused on mermaids, and read every book ever made. Then when I’m sitting on my bed and complaining to Stephanie that Prince Eric doesn’t love me and basically just throwing myself across my bed in despair, I ignore the urge to write so I can just mope. Laziness. But I’m getting better with this blog and my journal. And once I graduate school in like three weeks, I’m going to start my mermaid epic and even if it takes me twenty years to write, it will get done. And it will be awesome.
I’ve just been youtubing all of these videos of JK Rowling because she is my queen. I could listen to her speak in that British accent forever because it’s so comforting. All I want is for her to read me Harry Potter out loud, preferably while sipping on tea and eating chocolate scones in a Barnes and Noble within a big ass castle in England or Scotland, while someone gives me a foot massage. I love a good foot massage. JK Rowling is the most inspiring person ever and I wish I could be as cool as her, but since I’m not British this will never happen. THANKS MOM AND DAD! Not that you should take this as being anti-American because I’m totally not, I just would really like to have a British accent and split my time evenly between America and England and Scotland.
I haven’t been able to fall asleep easily these past few nights because my allergies are bad and prevent me from being able to breathe properly but I have to keep the windows open because it’s so hot in the dorm and they refuse to turn on the AC and even though we have AC (!!). The first night I wandered around the dorm drinking water and going to the bathroom every two seconds because it was about 25 degrees cooler in the hallway. Two nights ago wasn’t too too bad, but then Stephanie sits up and I’m like, “Shit, here we go. What do you want?” And she starts to sing. In the creepy tone that is reserved for horror movies. I’m not kidding. Like she was leaning towards me across the room and threatening me in song. I couldn’t clearly hear the words over the fan that was probably just blowing pollen juice on me, but I swear it was something about how she was going to kill me. This is exactly why I won’t show her where I keep the scissors when she’s conscious so she won’t know where to find them when she’s unconscious. When she needs them, I make her close her eyes. So I told her to “SHUT UP” and she didn’t lay back down casually, but thumped down. I can’t explain it without making a sound, but holy shit, she threw herself down, which leads me to believe that she is totally possessed.
I also thought she or our ghost stole my orange today and was freaked out for an hour until I realized that I had put it in my backpack.
For graduation, I really want a nook, a new bike, and the Harry Potter book collection that comes in a chest. Don’t you dare judge me on the nook thing, it’s just that the books are cheaper on there and it would be nice and easy to carry things around. But don’t worry, I would still probably end up buying the book books of a lot of books, but I also want a nook. I want a pink bike with a pink basket that I can ride on the bike path because I don’t like bikes riding around in traffic because one hit me once. I didn’t hit it, it hit me. Now I have to tell you the story.
So I was driving into work one summer and had to stop when I was making my turn into the parking lot because another bike was riding past on the sidewalk and then like a good thirty seconds later I hear this weird crash and then a thud and I’m like the fuck? And I turned in time to see a middle-aged, professor-like man go down. I felt bad and all so I got out of the car, but he was so rude. As though I hit him! Then the security guard comes over and asks me if I’m ok, which is kind of funny and the dude lumbers back onto his bike and staggers away. He totally almost ruined my Harry Potter 7 Part 2 premiere night. I should also mention that I was dressed as Luna Lovegood at the time with a giant lion on my head.
Mind the fact that I was like a good 40 pounds heavier in that picture.
What’s better is the time I dressed up as Hedwig the owl for Harry Potter 7 Part 1 and won a pretty big costume contest.
Here I’m like 70 pounds heavier. Not that it’s important, but I want you all to know me and have perspective. I know I’m pretty amazing with my costumes. It’s just too bad that I won’t have anything else to dress up as, at least until they re-release them in like ten-twenty years, but then my husband/children might look down on me and judge me. Actually, any husband or children of mine would be dressed up too because then why would I be with them if they didn’t?
Anyways, the Harry Potter chest goes without needing a real explanation except to say that no one will ever touch them because they will be there for show. Forever. On a mantelpiece. And probably protected in a fireproof box. Just like Fluffy, my friend Christine’s (an avid reader of this blog because she has good taste) stuffed seal. I’ll actually probably try to cuddle with them.
I’m just going to leave you now with the image of me trying to cuddle in bed with seven huge ass books. You’re welcome.