This is truly lovely, though, isn't it? This whole blogging thing? There's such ownership in it, such a sense of pride I have when I look at what I've written and that others can see it. Accomplishment, I guess.
So, what should I tell you, dear reader? Perhaps about the fact that I felt strangely protective of my heart when I, not meaning to, put my hand on my chest and felt how fluid its beating sounded. Like it's surrounded in a casing of egg yoke. Which is probably not how a beating heart should sound, but I figure it may be a little doped out/exhausted by the sugar rush it had earlier. A girl on my floor bakes sporadically, and tonight she made her killer recipe (I'm sure it could kill, quite literally! It's a sugar-blast to the max, but oh oh so good.) Java. That's what it's called. It's basically a s'more casserole: a graham cracker bottom, a chocolatey gooey center and marshmallow cream and sour cream (? yeah not sure why that's in there) top. Goo-ood. Gone quickly. And now making my heart feel like it's whisking eggs.
Or, I could tell you about how strong nostalgia is. It's like that feeling that you get when you remember a dream but more surreal because you've actually lived it. That's how I've been lately about my house back in Houston. I can't fathom that I actually once lived there, that in reality, most of my whole life has unfolded in this place, now so far removed from me. I see my house in my mind's eye, my bedroom, and it all has a warmth that I never noticed before. It's the force of memories obscuring reality and bringing connotations of this sureness, this absolute curtain of security I never felt when I actually lived there. My home becomes a magical place where all I can remember are happy times, so happy that it almost suffocates me with how much I miss them. That's nostalgia, right there.
That's what they don't tell you when you go off to school--that yes, you're growing up, but it's because your whole entire life has changed, which is something that I never much considered before I moved up here. One day you're don't have to worry about being lonely, you don't have to consider being anything beyond what you know, and literally, the next day (move-in day), you are on your own. No, here's what they don't tell you: they tell you you'll be on your own, but they don't tell you what that actually means. Consider the phrase, on. your. OWN. What they don't do enough of is emphasizing the "Own." "Own" is fun and exciting and challenging. But it's also something that can never be understood until you're there.
All right, all right, I promise to be less heavy in future entries (although not forever!) I don't want to scare readers away. Furthermore, while I am a deep thinker, there is much more light to me than dark.
Anyway, all for now, really need to get some sleep. Adieu!
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