As good as it gets? You know how you always expect that if the situation ever arises that you need to be able to write or say exactly what you think and feel about something, you would be able too given an ample amount of time? Well... maybe you don't expect that, but I do, given the fact that I've chosen to devote my life to the art of writing (at least for now, anyway), but I think I'm beginning to realize that that might not be the case. For instance, I am finding it impossibly difficult for me to communicate my feelings these days. Maybe I'm just being too hard on myself, or maybe I don't quite have the skill in the craft that I'd like. I guess, like all good things, it takes time. I want to write, but more importantly, I want what I write to be true and real. I don't want to write some shoddy piece of garbage that has been written in different words hundreds of times before; I want to write something new... something no one's ever thought of before... I want you to read what I write and not be like me and reply by saying "hmmmm". I want to cure you of my own disease; I want it to hit you, to enlighten you, to move you to think, act, and speak your mind. It seems that is something that I can't do anymore. At least not right now, anyway. Maybe I just need to get the inspiration back.

I bought a new book today. It's a collection of essays by Jonathan Franzen (author of The Corrections, which I have not read) entitled How to Be Alone. It's pretty good so far (I'm about ten pages in), and not nearly as depressing as the title would lead you to believe. From what I am gathering, the underlying theme of all the essays is how to move beyond today's mass-media driven culture and love your own individuality. That's probably leaving out a lot, but yeah. It seems to be almost a book by a writer for writers... or artists... or anyone who would like to be able to communicate SOMETHING about their experience. I won't hold my breath, but you might check it out if you get a chance.

We are reading a series of poems by William Blake called Songs of Innocence and Experience in my British Survey 2 class. It's interesting to see how much I can relate to my own life, even though the guy lived like two hundred years ago. He is right in his depiction of thought before and after the loss of innocence (and subsequent gain of experience), which I figure for me happened somewhere within my tenure at Olathe North High School. Back in the day, it was so easy to tell you exactly how I felt, to let you know how much I loved you. I wasn't inhibited by some cynical fear, a realization of reality, if you will, that not all good things work out in the world... a sentiment Blake touches on in his Songs of Experience. But what you really ought to know is this (and I know I'm sounding really weird and not making much sense right now but thank you for continuing to read): I love you. Every single instant of every single day, no matter how much you let me in or how far you shut me out. I may not always show it. At times, it may seem like I care for you about as much as I care for my job at Peterson Clinical Lab (which, by the by, I have not yet left), but nothing could be further from the truth. Apply this to yourself however you will, but I mean it. I will never stop loving you as much as I did the day I first knew I loved you.

"Love" is a huge abstraction. Someday I will earn the use of that word, but for now it's late, and I am tired.

Feel odd after reading all of this? Never fear... just dismiss this post and hope for better things next time :)