Summers Child

To the Non-Existent Reader:

Not that you notice, but I don’t have it in me to blog anymore. There are a number of reasons as to why, and none of them are particularly important or of interest. I keep to my private journal these days, writing for myself.

There are several things I have learned in the last year, which include (and are not limited to):

- Sometimes I must sacrifice momentary happiness to gain lasting happiness.

- I know who my friends really are.

- My parents are amazing. When it is said and done, family is what matters.

- Having an open mind can be just as dangerous has having a closed one.

- My faith means everything to me.

- Life is beautiful.

I am glad to know these things. I am excited to know more, and imagine that as I do, the pages of my journal will continue to fill. I am writing—not for anyone, (aside of the Bohemian Alien), and there are reasons for this, too.

At any rate, I wish you the best in your pursuits.

Sincerely,

MLB

O, the insanity that is my life! Or dramatic irony. A little of both, most likely. 

For the most part I am busy: there is work, school, institute, the writer’s club, and my newest endeavor of sharing “soul-filled extracts” for the Bohemian Alien*. With all this madness, it riddles my mind how I am still a deeply committed insomniac. Lack of proper sleep gets to be frustrating. When I finally catch some REM, it is usually at the most awkward hours. I envy people with decent sleep habits. 

 Speaking of, lately I have the weirdest dreams**. I wake up either amused or disturbed, and blame the crap-tacular weather for my unconscious nuttiness. (Yes, I know there is no foundation for this. I simply miss a rainy autumn. It is late October and I forgo a hot cup of cider for a glass of lemonade. There is something wrong with this.) 

One the whole, though, the move has been good for me. There were certain things (i.e. everything) that I needed to get away from, if only to recognize how grateful I am for it all. Also, to really see where it is I am headed and what I want I life. For the most part I know. Undeniably I’ve been led to certain places, people, and things that have helped me recognize what, not only I want, but need.  

Melvin paused by the front desk this morning. “What are you up to?” 

“Eh. Writing.” 

“Naturally. That’s what you do.” 

 “I try,” I say. 

He shakes his head, all serious like, and taps the countertop. “It’s not a job but a vocation for you—a real calling, I believe.”  

Maybe. Maybe not. 

 My biggest hang up right now—well, it’s like Plath says: anything is writable about so long as you have the guts to do it. K. pesters me all the time about my writing, if I am working on anything, and more often than not I give a pathetic excuse. First I allotted it to laziness (given laziness does play a part) but deep down I know the root of my problem is guts.

 I am not sure I have any.  

*The fact that Happy cleverly named the magazine, Bohemian Alien makes me giddy for no apparent reason, other then it is 5:54 in the AM and I adore the word bohemian.
**Guest stars include but are not limited to: my Arch Nemesis (we all have one), Christian Bale, Queen Eliazabeth I (we had crumpets), and a dog named, ironically, Cat. No. Seriously.