Writer's block on finals week is directly proportional to the length of the ABC Harry Potter marathon.
Having a really, really hard time concentrating on my final papers tonight. I have been having a great deal of difficulty concentrating on anything, really.
To know me, and mean truly, deeply know me, is to know that I love stories. A well-crafted story, real or imagined, captures me more than anything, especially lately, in an environment that appears to find them senseless...a waste of time. Sometimes I have to write something down that happened that day, because it felt like it happened so perfectly, it was scripted.
The beginning of mine and Allen's friendship, for example. I left our dorm around 2 am to meet up with a boy, a member of my drama team, who I was concerned about getting along with. We were both very stubborn. Before I left, Bethany asked me if it was wise of me to go, to meet with a boy, let alone a boy I didn't very much like, at so late an hour on a campus notorious for gossip. I shrugged. "It feels like a God thing. Like we'll be friends for a long time after this." The rest, for lack of better phrase, is history.
I feel like I'm drying up in a world that lacks a sense of whimsy. Or adventure, for that matter. I'm not promoting recklessness or a childish response to reality. Maturity is important, absolutely. But I don't think adulthood and maturity are synonymous with one another. In fact, I'm beginning to believe adulthood is a fallacy, created by society to trick us into believing an age bracket makes us mature and gives us certain liberties. Suddenly, potentially harmful activities are for "adults only." Adult language, adult beverages, adult stores...why is any of it necessary?
So I return to my stories, where morals are clear and friendship is lasting. And I bolster myself to create my own, regardless of the skeptical looks and rolled eyes and shaking heads.
Having a really, really hard time concentrating on my final papers tonight. I have been having a great deal of difficulty concentrating on anything, really.
To know me, and mean truly, deeply know me, is to know that I love stories. A well-crafted story, real or imagined, captures me more than anything, especially lately, in an environment that appears to find them senseless...a waste of time. Sometimes I have to write something down that happened that day, because it felt like it happened so perfectly, it was scripted.
The beginning of mine and Allen's friendship, for example. I left our dorm around 2 am to meet up with a boy, a member of my drama team, who I was concerned about getting along with. We were both very stubborn. Before I left, Bethany asked me if it was wise of me to go, to meet with a boy, let alone a boy I didn't very much like, at so late an hour on a campus notorious for gossip. I shrugged. "It feels like a God thing. Like we'll be friends for a long time after this." The rest, for lack of better phrase, is history.
I feel like I'm drying up in a world that lacks a sense of whimsy. Or adventure, for that matter. I'm not promoting recklessness or a childish response to reality. Maturity is important, absolutely. But I don't think adulthood and maturity are synonymous with one another. In fact, I'm beginning to believe adulthood is a fallacy, created by society to trick us into believing an age bracket makes us mature and gives us certain liberties. Suddenly, potentially harmful activities are for "adults only." Adult language, adult beverages, adult stores...why is any of it necessary?
So I return to my stories, where morals are clear and friendship is lasting. And I bolster myself to create my own, regardless of the skeptical looks and rolled eyes and shaking heads.
Where do you see God working?
I feel like he is altering my perspective on the world. Thing that were important, are suddenly nauseating to think about.
What do you hear God saying?
"You're a spark. Don't lose your light."
How do you see God working?
Unsure again. Sometimes I feel him prompting to speak out on certain things, or in specific situations. When I do, I meet resistance. Usually propelled by fear. When I don't, I leave frustrated regardless. I feel stuck in the mud.
