looking through old journal/diary/livejournal/blog entries and realizing that many people love me
and yet i still (through my own inaction) spend much time alone.


ink stains

i've decided to keep a real-life journal and try to write in it on a regular basis. no offense to you, blog, but you are on the internet which is full of the distractions that often keep me from writing.

i cut my finger while cooking dinner a few days ago. i got ink in the wound today. my cut is dyed black.

(if you don't listen to joe purdy, start. as soon as you can.)


i always realize what i want when there is not enough time left to get it.

(my to-do list is consistently abandoned. i do not know what i do with my days. maybe i needed this break, but i am still upset about it. i feel uninspired, unmotivated, unsure, unwilling. i am many un-s.)

hiked through lake harbor park as the sun was setting. scraped up my legs. climbed a tree. sap all over my hands, dirt all over my feet. breathing heavily. climbing dunes is still difficult. for every step one takes, the sand slides back. one must run to get to the top.

a little bit of my blood dripped from my leg into lake michigan. i feel, now, that somehow my veins and the great lakes are sharing something. scientifically, this is unhygienic and disgusting, but if i take a step back, it is beautiful and poetic.

i need to read more, see more, learn more, watch more, touch more, listen more.

what am i doing with my time?

i need to love more.



so many women here collect lighthouses. they put the little statuettes in their kitchens, buy the dishtowels with iron-ons. some of them have little lighthouses in the gardens in their front yards, as if calling their children into harbor once the streetlights turn on.

[this will become something, eventually.]



i am terrible at seeing people; i am terrible at caring.


through the night

jesse harris' new album is out (new albums are out).

i'm disturbingly nostalgic, and i'm getting upset at myself from about five years ago. i call mulligan. i want high school back. i want to redo, do-over, try again. i am upset that i wasn't reckless enough, wasn't really young enough sometimes.

i am upset that i am still in an awkward stage. that i still don't know how to dress myself, really. that i still don't know what i am supposed to look or act like. i still haven't grown into myself or whatever it is you do in high school and college.

things to do in the next two weeks:
less internet, less sitting around, more outside, more reading, more writing, more exploits.
god and exploits.
god and exploits.
i have nothing to talk of lately.


uphill, both ways

i want to be able to run far and fast, lift heavy things, be a primal and useful human being.

i'd also like to read more, think more, sit around and intellectualize.

i worry that i can't always use all the parts of me to their fullest potential without losing parts of the ones i'm ignoring.

somehow i will have to convince myself that braun requires brain. or something.

in other news, i am back in michigan, i am feeling the calm within the storm. i have big scratches on my arms from dog claws and i have meatless meatloaf in my belly. it is apparently my job to change the way my family moves and eats and lives, to make them healthier, to make them better, when this is something i'm not always sure how to do. we'll see how this goes. more walks are definitely in order.

i'd like to wear dresses more often. i don't know how to do that.

i'm taking some new steps towards sustainability. hopefully i don't become one of those people who talks your ear off about them. i know i'm a sorry hypocrite at least seventy percent of the time, but that other thirty percent...i'll try to convert you.

my life, as always, is a combination of guilt, tranquility, and worry. i've got three weeks off to think about things. hopefully i'll come here and share some of them. no promises, though.

(poor blog, getting neglected more often lately.
it's not you; it's me.
i'm getting burnt out.)


have you heard this song?

nobody falls in love with the manic pixie dream girl.

they write movies about her, they idolize her in scripts and on film and in novels, but in real life, nobody falls in love with the manic pixie dream girl.

she's a total basket case, you know?
normal people don't go outside to watch lightening at midnight.
normal people don't run their hands over every single fabric while clothes shopping.
normal people don't put things back into strangers' grocery carts after they're dropped.
normal people don't pace around the room in attempts to make shapes in the carpet.
people fall in love with normal people, it seems.

not that these normal people aren't extraordinary in their own ways. the doctors, the lawyers, the physicists; the painters, the poets, the musicians; the outspoken, the ambitious, the driven; the kind, the caring, the ever-lastingly-loving. but they aren't as frighteningly spontaneous, as simultaneously neurotic and carefree, as everything and nothing as the manic pixie dream girl.

they want to fall in love with her, they really do, but the upkeep is too much. it's too stressful to constantly worry if she's getting herself into danger, and too taxing to constantly read her wild love poems and listen to her late-night phone calls. and she will call. two in the morning is prime time for the manic pixie dream girl, and she wants you to listen and needs you to talk. they just can't keep up with the late nights and urging to stay up 'til sunrise because it's just so beautiful.

sometimes they just want to fall in love with a girl who reads nice books, writes nice letters, has nice ambitions, and goes to sleep at night. of course she can call late at night, but only so often, and only in situations that warrant it. she can have problems and neuroses and joy and pain and a range of emotions, but she can't live the full ups and downs of the manic pixie dream girl. they just want to fall in love with someone easy to handle.

(wrote this too late at night, on trace amounts of caffeine, trying to make sense of this stereotyped character and what she means for our generation and society, but only got this. i apologize; i'm sure it's a let down. i must go to bed now.)