I may actually be allergic to grass. For some reason, I feel as though coffee may remedy this sneezing fit to which cutting the grass this morning has seem to lead. Coffee helps everything. Now there seems to be an itch in my throat as I am draining my third cup this morning. It's about 80 degrees outside and I still drink it hot. With a bit of milk and honey - that's how I like it.
What does it take to fancy someone? It takes so much more for some people and so little for others. And for the more intelligent it seems to require more over time. It may be that I am watching the wrong couples. There is no right way, yet I want it to be such a complicated science.
Grandma keeps putting this strange large Tupperware cake cover back in the microwave. Every time I see it there I automatically get so needlessly frustrated at its presence, and try removing it with a flourish to remove feelings of annoyance. I shouldn't be so frustrated at her way of keeping things. In that moment I should be reminded instead of how this is not my place, and that I rather should be grateful at her allowing me to stay.
As I mentioned I just finished mowing the lawn, she has just looked out the windows to inspect it. She proclaims: "A little bit straighter lines. It looks like she wasn't drunk this time." I can only laugh at her random use of the third person. I also never tire of her saying "your grandmother" when she talks about her day. I always wonder where she picked up speech like that. Was it from living in Newfoundland, or did she get it after moving to America? Is it possible to change one's speech after the age of 19, when she arrived here?
What I've learned in the past few months is that taking a long break from writing so that you can spend any free time reading - thinking that you will just write perfectly after taking in only professional writing styles - has been one of my biggest mistakes in the trade. If anything the quality of my writing and the pace at which I can come up with material has regressed. I feel rusty, but now so hungry to get back into the swing of it. What a powerful lesson this has been.
And there I am in 2nd person.
I should have taken to heart after reading Malcolm Gladwell's novel "Outliers" this past winter how important it is to get one's 10,000 hours in; No one may call himself or herself an expert of a trade until they have practiced it for that amount of time. If I could guess, the writing I've done throughout school, along with the three years in my late teens that I spent writing almost every day in a journal, has probably only brought me up to about three-fifths that time. I will write now as much as I can until I leave for my exchange trip to Northern Ireland in September. Every day, even if it is only stream of consciousness, shall suffice. At least with that, I can develop a sort of notion to the kind of things I most prefer to mention in my writing.
This sort of life without regular writing has been numbing. I feel most alive after coming up with a good story. I can feel the pendulum of that old, desirable way of life swinging just slightly. It's time to wake it up again.