I do not wish to blog.

So I have come back to blog. Not to share, but just to write, ramble, curse, remember, compare, reflect, and think in another way. I spend so much of my time in front of the computer doing homework or facebook, why not be able to blog.

Its interesting, I read something, who knows what and where, but it was something that- oh yea, it was on my test! But anyway, it said that some students finr it easier to write on a computer because for some reason, a blank computer screen is much less daunting than a blank piece of paper. It did say, however, that the writing was not as good as that of its paper written counterparts. Now that I realize where I read this information from, I am questioning its reliability, but it does seem like a fair statement. Especially now, with technology the way it is, why wouldnt people have an easier time writing things on a computer versus the good old fashioned way of paper and pen. I notice, as I write, that how I am writing is drastically different. When I handwrite things it never sounds as good or colorful or well thought out as when I type things. Maybe its just that when I sit down in front of a computer my mind goes into paper writing mode. The vocabulary, out of habit, changes with automaticity now. I dont even have to think about it. The writing is much less personal though. Yes it is laced with great vocabulary, but what's a plethora of words compared to something handwritten, where the feeling seems to have been taken straight from the heart and left on the page, as if the pen was just an extension of your body. Someone I knew had to call off her wedding because of her fiance. He was supposed to send everyone a written statement as to why the wedding was cancelled. Not only was it short, vague, and denying respinsibility for the matter, but he typed it and didnt even sign it. He left absolutely no piece of his heart on that paper. The address was typed out and there was no return address. It was distant and void. I dont want to be distant and void, however, I dont want to be dripping in blood from being to emotioanlly connected.

There is, however, something so seducing about the quality of writing that I can produce typewritten. Like a pianist playing the piano, my fingers glide across keys creating a melodious tune. Letters and sounds that make up words that when put together, they are riveting enough to stir the soul. That is why I so adore literature. A rose, by any other name may smell as sweet but words in any other syntax or sentence or paragraph would not produce such a melodious sound.One word, a favorite of mine, oh if I could use it daily I would. But alas, it is hard to sind such a sentence in which it fits perfectly, in a context which does it justice. Now tell me I am not destined to be an English teacher! Unfortunatly this particular piece of writing is drowning in howevers.

I wonder if I could ever be an essayist, would I make the cut? Would I be able to with purpose, string together words and create in writing something as beautiful as a pearl neclase or Cannon in D? How marvelous it would be to get paid to write! Would I even have anything to write about that would be worth reading? I cant count the times when I have picked up something to read and put it doen after only a few paragraphs. Dont judge a book by its cover but the first few paragraphs are fair game. I havemany opinions about the world and how it works. I also have many stpries that I wish to tell. Many life lessons I wish to teach. So many things I wish to put to paper and immortalize in writing for as long as can be! Thoughts have power, but thoughts put to paper, well, there is no stopping those thoughts. Those thoughts are going somewhere. My thoughts so desperately want to leave my mind and travel! My heart wishes to release so many things, it wishes to bleed onto paper its hurts and its happiness, its passions and its provocations.

I do not wish to blog. I do not wish to journal. I do not wish to keep a diary or a running record. I wish to write! And that is what I will do. I will write until my thoughts have been around the world. Some of my writing will be horrendous. Some of my writing will be noteworthy. Some of my writing will be inbetween. And some of my writing, I can only assume the vast minority, will travel.