|I feel like my iPhone4 camera quality keeps getting worse|
It's the holidays so theoretically I should be posting a lot more than I have been, right? I should be updating you on adventures, or contemplating life with all the free time I have, and I really have been trying. After scrolling through my blog I realised that my latest posts weren't the usual ramblings. I don't know about you, but those are definitely my favourite kind of posts - so I tried to make some more, but I just wasn't feeling it. Writing here felt so forced, and I never thought that would happen. I never thought I would view blogging as anything remotely similar to a chore, or an assignment, or a musical instrument to practice. I tried to fit it into my day as I would with any of the tasks listed above. Blogging used to be spontaneous.
I think it's because I'm not thinking anymore. I'm not trying. I used to force myself to be friendly, but now I find myself waltzing in and telling myself not to care. I'll be pleasant enough, but I don't force myself to start conversations because I'd rather work in peaceful silence unless they want to make the effort. I don't even think about what I'm doing anymore. I don't contemplate whether this is the best way to go about things as I used to. I don't calculate and analyse moments. And because I'm no longer observing, no longer always thinking, I have nothing to write about.
Today I lay on the bed for an entire hour, from noon to one, staring up at the ceiling. I never thought I'd be the kind of person who could literally do nothing. I let my music switch from Kelly Clarkson, to Katy Perry, to Lana Del Rey, and after a while they all sounded exactly the same. Under normal circumstances I'd skip to a song of a completely different genre, but at that moment I was perfectly content to listen to the classic sounds of female pop music.
I've been cutting up pieces of teen magazines I've been meaning to throw away to stick on the empty white wall by my bed. I'm making a collage. In the process I've managed to dig up all sorts of old creations, such as the family newspaper issues made in 2012, or the brochures and tickets from France I collected in 2012, or the letters to and from my grandparents written in 2012. It seems like I was extremely inspired in 2012.
The other day we were sitting on a bench by the lake, daring each other to cause havoc among the fellow perfect strangers nearby. One friend asked a little boy if she could play soccer with him, but he said he was too busy chasing away the birds. Another friend asked a girl if they could be friends, and she found that the girl is my sister's age and goes to a school almost like ours. I went up to a man and his girlfriend picnicking, and told him he had a very nice man bun. I don't think I get the same kick out of talking to strangers as I used to. I used to be so interested in people in general, but now I feel too uninspired to take notice.
I was craving oreos yesterday, so I ate them. And then I had a caramel TimTam for the first time in ages as well. I'm scared of feeling bloated, but it seems that as long as I suck my tummy in it'll never happen. Maybe those workouts with my friend-neighbour have actually paid off. Two years ago I actually prayed to God, asking Him to give me a friend who lives within walking distance. Now I have two.
After lying on the bed for an hour I went downstairs to play the piano. I picked the first piece of sheet music off the top, and it was Skinny Love by Birdy. The piece was fairly easy, considering it sounded right the first time I played it. Under normal circumstances I would have forced myself to learn it fluently. An easy, beautiful piece like that should've been mastered by now, but I'm so tired. I played to the end before placing it back on top of the piano. My sister is playing it right now. She seems to love playing the instrument, and I know I can too, but I feel so uninspired.
I wrote in my diary that I feel like a time bomb, because I got mad at my dad this morning in the middle of the mall for supposedly no reason. There was this cute boy looking at me, and I looked at him, before transforming into my temperamental bitchy self and grumbling to my dad again. I embarrassed myself in front of a cute boy, and I feel like that's set the mood for the whole day.
I should be writing an obituary on Iago or translating a passage of Latin right now, but maybe I'll leave that for tomorrow. I just feel so unmotivated. School starts tomorrow so maybe I deserve to spend a day doing whatever I feel like before being forced to think again.
I guess when you're uninspired there's nothing more to write about than whatever decides to come to the front of your drowsy, dead mind. My Religion and Philosophy teacher is always saying that you can let the birds fly over your head, but you don't need to let them build a nest in your hair. Maybe by putting these thoughts into words I'm letting them build their nest.