don't wake me

I lied about posting that night and I'm sorry. November is always a weird month. 

My greatest fear is that I will lose more motivation, a quality which I was born with very little of. I possess even less self control, and lately I've been content, and that's the problem. Today was the first time I've written in a while, and I attribute it to that I was anxious. The past month or so has been by far the best since I got to school but there hasn't been real progress concerning writing and my timeline is getting out of wack. I'm spending too much money and I'm falling to vices faster than I realized I knew how, and I want all of these things and a novel too but I'm terrified that I can't have both. I'm probably worrying too much, the scariest thing is the idea that I won't be done when I wanted to be. Time goes too quickly.
I desperately want to be rereading Candide right now to reinforce the irony in my life, but I have two essays to write and  I left it in Plano because I decided only to bring books I hadn't read yet. Next year I'm going to live in an apartment and there will be a bookshelf in my room, all of my babies are coming with me. No exceptions.


Right now I like coffee and red bull, smoothies with infused energy drinks, staying up all night, sleeping in two hours late, editing old chapters, the Postal Service, Russell Edson, talking about Oscar Wilde, articles on the front page, layering, leisurely walks to class, the academia in the air as finals approach, clutter, old notebooks, moleskine, morning showers, the prospect of working at cici's over winter break, best friends, and this one business major who makes me kind of happy. 
I will always love you, I will always be your friend,
Loch.


p.s. Those pictures are not mine,
but they are what I want.

friends with shadows

Before you begin reading this blog, please note that I am sorry for the exceptionally stupid looking array of pictures, I just really didn't want to leave you guys hanging in the visual department again. I'm lacking in the camera department right now (shout out to julia, the digital from eighth grade is finally dying) but I swear to god once I get one I'll be more artsy, or at least I won't look like an idiot. :)


I waited to caffeinate until like 3:30 in the afternoon today? I feel like how I'm feeling is the intersection between being anxious and being asleep. Def weird.
I got up this morning and skipped class to register for classes, which sucked. Yay for being a freshman! All of my classes start at eight or nine in the morning. Not like I'm a night owl or anything, it's cool. I slept a lot, too. After registering and before the event I covered, I mean.
This is the first time I have ever been a little anxious to leave the newsroom early. I would gladly spend all of every day in this basement, but I made plans for tonight that have me a little more worked up than I usually am, which is saying something because I'm kind of a worked up person. 


You know what's weird?
Being in this basement is what I want to do for the rest of my life, right? I mean, figuratively. I don't actually want to be in this particular basement, that would be a weird life goal. But being in a newsroom I mean, reporting, being a journalist. But here's the thing,
have you ever been to an art museum and wanted desperately to be an artist, but only for an hour, or in a courthouse and wanted more than anything else in the world to be a lawyer? Walking by a violinist or a doctor can make me change my dream for twenty minutes. Of course, when I lay down at night to sleep, my conclusion is always the same- it doesn't matter what I want. I am a writer, it's all I know how to be. Words come to me before anything else in the world. But it's a strange emotion, wondering what life would be like if I had been born a different person, picturing it and feeling it and tasting it and then forgetting it. I never know quite what that should mean to me. In some ways I guess that's what writing is- allowing yourself to live vicariously through characters who can be whatever you want, or in the case of journalism, finding out whatever you can about other lives and reporting about them to the public. Writing lets you taste and try on different professions. The catch, I guess, is that no matter how much you love them, you inevitably must always put them back in order to maintain the pen in your hand. The only part of my life that's ever stayed constant is for me is the pen.

Yesterday a girl told me that I looked calm and she didn't want to strangle me as much as she usually does for being so ridiculously happy. I haven't written lately, or at least I haven't written as much as I would like. My poetry class went to an art museum to write ekphrastic poetry, and if I can find a decent picture of the painting I wrote about then I'll post the poem. I don't know what it was about the painting but I couldn't really stop looking at it.
ps. I'm taking another poetry class next semester. It was entirely unplanned. Hahh.


You know what I want? Money to spend on more books.
I probably love you more than you think I do,
Loch.

back yard block party

Back by popular demand ;)


I'm writing this as I sit in the West mall waiting for A) a Native American festival to be over so I can interview participants and B) a guy from the Texas Higher Education Coordinating Board to call me back with some one I can interview. There's always so much waitinggg. It's a really nice day out, though. Maybe a little warm, but whatever, I live in Austin, and there's kind of a breeze and I'm in the shade so it doesn't really matter anyway.
I haven't blogged in a while. Or I guess, this is kind of a normal break between blogs? Because I blog a lot more than most people, but for me it seems like it's been weeks. It's probably actually been what, like four days? 

I've written an assload. Like, so much. I went back and did some edits on the revision of 3 that I started earlier in the semester, lengthened it and made it more readable (hahh) and while I've basically got the plot lined up in my cranium, I feel more comfortable if I can go back and look at it so I don't forget? So I've been trying to organize it in a document. Everythings really lengthened and I've added on a lot and things are started to move like legit. Like, more legit than they have in a while. This isn't me starting a novel, this is me writing one. legit legit legit.
Of course, it's clearly not yet Barnes&Noble material. But still.


I deleted a blog I wrote the other day and I regret it. I didn't save it anywhere, or else I would repost it. I'm sorry. :( I wasn't sure if it was something I should leave up, at the time.
I would post more poetry but I haven't had any assignments. This week is for our portfolio consultations, so I'll let you know how that goes. I edited the one from a few posts ago and it's better now, thank goodness. 
This weekend was fun! In case anyone was curious how that went. I made friends. Yay! I bought earrings made out of Polish coins and a ring made out of a nickel from Singapore. Legit. Too much so to quit, I would think. 


<3 @ all of you and every facet of your personality,
always,
loch.


ps. to the people who understand the picture- can we go back soon? I'm okay with the forest/plumbing. Sort of. But I liked the sleeping bags... ;)
Also, I feel like I already posted that picture somewhere in this blog, and I know it's already on Kay Elle's blog, but frankly, I'm running out of pictures. Everyone knows I'm not a photographer, let's be honest here.


pss. I wish I knew how to change the backround on this thing.


psss. I should start posting ps's in the actual text of the blog. <3

the reality is i wrote this all for you.

Those pictures are of me. See how versatile I am! The chap stick is called Yes to Carrots, which is ironic because I hate carrots. :( but i don't have to freeze to death in my dorm, because I have a blue fuzzy thing! :D The glasses have no reasoning. Don't judge.

On another and less lighthearted note,

My poetry class is frustrating.

Not in a bad way necessarily, just in a way that I don't really want to deal with. See, the thing is, with prose, it's all a lie, or at least it comes off that way. No one expects you to write a novel about your life, or maybe they do, but it's so easy to mask things as complete bullshit so you don't have to deal with the reactions of the people who know you, or maybe the people who don't know you. I think that's what I love about it, because everything I write is completely honest, but a total lie, so I don't have to worry about anything. It's my fun little secret that I laugh about in the back of my mind. But today in class my professor listed emotions off and we had to write down memories we associated with them, and it was like these raw emotions ghosted back into my stomach. Everyone else wrote about stuff from wayyy back in their childhood, and everything coming to mind was in the past two years, and most of it was in the past month. The thing about poetry is that you can lie, but it's so concise that it's a lot more difficult. It's a lot harder to weave a good lie in just a few lines, and it seems like lately, I've been lying a lot more than I remembered doing. I guess there are some instances that I didn't realize I cared about, and it's strange to suddenly realize that I do.

I sat down to write last night and nothing came. Wish me luck for tonight.

Sorry my mood is all over the place in this one, hahh. I promise I'm in a good one, I'm just a little weirded out.

LOVE LOVE LOVE I LOVE YOU :)

-Loch

p.s. you can tell me anything. I want you to tell me everything. I hope you know who you are.

please tell me that you're alright.

I'm starting this post before I go get free drinks for some friends at my job, but they're coming to get me soon so I probably won't finish it until after my shift. I wanted to let you guys know that I think the ball might be rolling again, maybe.
Last night I was lying in bed, trying desperately to STOP thinking about why I was so bothered and START thinking of little sheep to count, when suddenly something hit me, and I rolled over and wrote for a good ten minutes, and frankly, it was not at all what I was expecting. I mean, I knew an epiphany would come around one way or another, but I was pretty much channeling the lovechild of Edgar Allen Poe and Shel Silverstein. Fuhreaky. But maybe it'll go somewhere. Poetrys been happening a lot lately? And I hadn't realized until the other night when I was explaining it to someone, and I was like, oh. I haven't written a lot of prose in a while. But I'm taking a poetry class first semester, so maybe this is a good thing?
PS, I move on the 21st. I quit work in ten days. :( but soon I'll be in college! :D

I lied, I'm not finishing this post until right now. Which is the next day, by the way. This girl from work I've bonded with super quickly spent the night at my house last night and we basically laughed hysterically for hours on end. Today I cut allllll of my hair off. And by all I mean over ten inches. The before and after pictures are above. Guess which one is which!
This has been the craziest summer of my life. If I'm doing everything else, I guess I might as well do my hair.
So much love, I'll come back later, I swear. I'm preoccupied. LOVE LOVE LOVE always,
Loch.

P.S. exactly two weeks until I'm officially living the dorm life.