Development

My boyfriend has been encouraging me to start a blog, as he doesn't know I've already started one. He says I should keep it as a journal and include the places I go, the food we cook, and the photos I've taken. I did want to eventually end up doing something like that but for some reason I wanted to start from "the beginning," but I don't really know when exactly that was/what I meant when I was thinking that. I wanted to catch up on all my thoughts about the past, and things I would have otherwise written in my journal about the past. I guess I wanted my blog to be more moody and melancholy try and be a bit different and mysterious. So I think I will give it a shot and try not to sound like every other blogger in the world who talks about food and takes pictures of it. Maybe it is inevitable. Perhaps if my moody/mysterious posts are peppered intermittently throughout the "regular" posting I will be satisfied. We shall see. At any rate. I begin with my first photo of this past weekend. The first sunny spring-like day - we sat outside for almost 3 hours just soaking it in at the top of a hill. It was romantic and relaxing, just how I like my weekends to be.

February Fog

Yesterday's weather was misty and cool. I liked how it felt and the way it looked. The trees and plants were frosted the entire day, looking like how they only usually look for a few hours in the morning. It was magical and made me feel like I was living in a giant snow globe. I didn't have a camera with me at the time aside from the dinky one on my Blackberry and as I took the tram home from work, I noticed that the frost was on fewer and fewer trees as I approached the city center. I realised the proximity to the ocean was the cause of the all day frost. Such a beautiful fleeting experience of nature and I missed the chance to immortalize it with a photograph. I found a similar one on the internet from the same place I am living. Doesn't do yesterday full justice, but suffices nonetheless. When I look out my window I always see beauty I want to capture in a photo; often when I try it doesn't come out the same as how I saw it. Why is that? I have decent equipment and photography skills. Does my mind just sees things as more beautiful than they are? Maybe I should start using my zoom lens.

Put it to rest.

I still feel so angry and knotted sometimes. What happened almost two years ago now haunts my nightmares. Why do I still even think about it? I am so far away from it and so much happier than I was. I guess it was a semi-traumatic experience and only time will rub the remnants of memory from my mind. I don't really want to talk about it with anybody because it's not worth discussing. Sometimes I consider talking to a professional, but I think I already know what they would tell me. I search for clues of what I left, wondering if things have changed. I should not care one way or the other but I still do. This desire has left me in tears over and over and yet I still look back. I don't want to anymore. I don't want to dream about it anymore. My future is full of love, hope and happiness. I want to dream about that.

Solitude

Sometimes I just don't want to do anything. In saying that, I think I still do a lot more than most people when they say that. My parents always told me that I am better at everything than I perceive myself to be, compared to most people (So I am better at doing nothing than most people?). Of course this can be interpreted as a loving confidence boost from parent to child. Also, there are certainly people in this world who do much, much more than I when they say the same thing. When I do nothing, I usually clean the house, go shopping, watch a chain of episodes of Top Chef on my computer, and do little to no exercise - yesterday I followed a pretty difficult 40 minute yoga video.

So what do I actually mean when I say that I don't want to do anything? I guess it is something I say when I am feeling pressure to complete an task and am procrastinating its completion. I haven't had any work this week which in turn provides me with ample time to complete said task. When I say I don't want to do anything, in reality it means I don't want to a specific task, whether it be laundry, cooking for myself, or putting on a bra. It doesn't mean that I literally don't want to do anything.

I realise I am rambling, and have yet to include a memory in this entry. I wonder if I had more friends living where I do right now, if I would feel as comfortable remaining in the confines of my little apartment for a few days straight. When I lived in the mountains I was always desperate to be somewhere, with someone, doing something. Rarely was I content to stay home and do "nothing." I used to love to jump into the car (mine or someone else's), drive for 5 or 10 minutes, and arrive at a good friend's home or the base of the mountain to go ski. I think some of my favourite memories include my friends who lived down by the lake. Nothing was certain, there was always opportunity for excitement to ignite. As of yet I haven't felt that pang of yearning for constant company. Have I really changed that much since I've left the mountains? Do I feel more whole now that I am with my soulmate? I'm not sure. Perhaps it is too soon to tell.

Trepidation

That moment after we tell our feelings and, with trepidation, await a response. Will these words be met with anger, love, fear... or worse, indifference? I much prefer a heated argument over a lengthy text message debate. Waiting for someone to text you back now appears to be the norm, though I rarely engage in that kind of dialogue anymore. I hate it. I like to think I have grown up a bit and those agonizing moments waiting for a boy who may or may not like me to answer my question about what he is up to tonight are in the past. They are, however, in my not so distant past.

I used to live in the mountains, in places small enough that I recognized passersby within a week of living there. My first home in the mountains was smaller than the second. Compared to the city I lived in while studying for my B.A., things moved snail slow. Socializing was among a group of ten or twenty others, but was usually a group number closer to the former.

I chased one while another chased me. I thought that was just the way it was. I know the one I chased reveled in making me wait. I don't know if the other even noticed when I tried to do the same to him. He probably did, but was smart(maybe) enough to never let on. My heat would flutter when I heard the text message beep. I thought, "I hope it's from him."

Words and Fire

Maybe writing down my thoughts will be nice. Stuff from the past that I think about. How far back should I go? Someone told me I should write about my experiences. I decided a blog is faster than writing in a notebook. Anonymity is eliminated, though. Pinterest is not interesting to me so I'll give this a try.