Just another post that I wrote many moons ago.
Man, it's fun to come across these old documents saved on my computer.
Why. I am supposed to be in control of everything. I’m supposed to have my entire life together. No mess. No chaos. Just control. Why is it that at these wee hours of the night, sitting alone in this dark and motionless room, thunder rumbling outside, that I think? I let my mind wander and it’s terrible. A wandering mind creates illusions and steals contentment. A wandering mind needs to be tied back down as soon as one realizes its escaped. But it isn’t that easy. Once imagination takes flight, the only thing there is to do is wait for it to run out of fuel. After a few hours or so, eyes will get heavy and, by the morning, those wild fantasies created in my head will be nothing but sleep lost and mangled dreams.
Lightning illuminates the room, a brief flash back into reality. A surge into your existence. Existence in a world where there is no order, and no matter how hard you try, you will never accomplish true control. Just udder chaos.
Sometimes I go throughout my day, writing a novel in my mind. Thinking of ways to phrase the occurrences in my life. Dreaming up scenes and chapters and the perfect ending. People think I’m crazy. They think I’m just afraid. But that’s not true. I’m not scared. I’m the opposite. I want to face the world. Alone. I want to see things that few ever see. I want to do things that others never could imagine. I want to travel. I want to write. I want to take pictures. And I want to be happy. Just me. Alone.
Sometimes I wish that I am that fashionable, quirky girl who sits in the corner cafe, scribbling in her journal, and drinking tea. But I don’t like tea. And I don’t sit in cafes. And I’m definitely not stylish. So that girl is sort of like my alter ego. My dream me. A character in my stories that I control. A way to have complete say in her life. In my life. With endless possibilities and boundless ideas. She is who I want to be.
And today, that girl is planning her next trip. She’s in a coffee shop, and her biggest decision at the moment is which country to see next. She scans through the photographs she took on her last adventure. Moments captures. Beauty emanating. She wishes others could see them. Recognize them as beautiful. She writes in her notebook, although she hates her handwriting. She wishes it was more girly. Cursive. More like a love note rather than words jotted down. Words that make sentences and sentences that make paragraphs that sometimes are so scatter-brained, they don’t even make sense to her. But she likes to write.
She gets up to refill her cup and returns to a note left on her table.
"Ireland. It’s gorgeous."
What I Write About: