It's hard for me to not start a blog post on a downer-note. Bad habits die hard.
For my birthday, Emily gave me a collection of Bukowski that's over 500 pages long and full of everything I could have ever wanted. I've been flipping pages in it for over a month now, but I've finally started reading it from the beginning through. I'm up to around 220, and I plan to get to at least 280 before I go to bed.
Poetry is addicting to me. I love just sitting and going through page after page of someone yelling at me or pleading or pledging or giving up. I can't seem to stop once I've started.
Ellen gave me a clean book she'd bound herself for my birthday and I love it. I've been using it as a place to write poetry when the mood fits, which I love. I've recently rediscovered things I loved in the seventh and eighth grade, and the nostalgia has overtaken me. Everything was so different the first time around with these musicians, these hobbies... But these songs mean so much more to me now.
Right now, I'm talking to Emily about how I grew up a long time ago. I may be bitter about a lot of things, but I'm not about that. Sure, it bites me in the bum every once in a while, but I don't regret it. I don't dwell on it. I guess that's strange to hear after I've spent the whole year practically wallowing in myself, but I can be positive depending on the topic. Right now, I'm listening to a band I gave up on a year ago, and I remember how little I was when I first heard them and how I had still seen too much for an eleven year old, but I was still so happy. Those are the memories I want to keep. I want to give myself the chance to remember the satisfaction of finishing something I'm proud of for me. I want to do the things that make me feel like sunlight. I don't think I'll ever get used to it.
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