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It’s 10 PM, July 27, 2014. And this post was supposed to be done maybe six, seven hours ago. Before supper, at the very least. But no.
There was church. We finished the video series we’d been looking at, “Fan or Follower?” Dripping with pathos, I’ll admit, but not without reason. The decision to follow is hefty, and there’s something about closure—the savory bitterness of the denouement, the inspiration and lethargy that haunts you until the hangover fades—that craves satisfaction. It was enough.
We got home. I walked around the block, just imagining things. Years of struggle, pain, nakedness, hurt. A little bit of humor never killed anyone, either. So I dreamed.
Then the birthday. There’s a Pinkie Pie in my family—enthusiastic, energetic, all-out party lover who also loves pink. The resemblance is uncanny. We paused for a moment, wondering: if we were ponies, what would our cutie marks be? The world may never know.
(I would like to note that I have not actually ever watched My Little Pony. I just read the guidebook.)
Party business aside, I could have written this afterwards, but we got Splash from the library, and I’d been dying to see the “Madison story.” So we did. Also the bonus features. Had to help grandpa with his computer, go out to eat, and I couldn’t rest without seeing more Firefly.
Holy buckets I love that show. The transformation of Mal’s moral ambiguity is as an exciting adventure as any, and I love the irony of Inara’s Companionship being so “respectable.” The faith fascinates me, I gotta say, and the Tam siblings are total keystone. S’like, “alsdjfasdlfadlkfjadlkfj” every time I pop those discs in.
But I digress.
Now it is 10:18 PM. And I have let two Youtube videos distract me twice, not to mention my family. Three Days Grace is on, there’s a watermelon jolly rancher in my mouth, my word document is calling for me, my book bemoans my absence, and the half-done novella is still waiting.
Perhaps I seem unproductive. “You just watched TV all day and ate party food.”
To that I say, “I did not! I only had two cupcakes!”
“Still,” you counter. “Doesn’t sound like you did much at all, does it?”
“Ah,” I reply. “But look. I was there at church, noticing appeals and tracking purpose. On my walk I fiddled with a story, as we did during the birthday party. And hey, Splash and Firefly? Um, I think you could say I gave them some pretty undivided attention during the day. Sounds busy enough to me.”
See, there’s something about stories. Literature. Movies, plays, books, musicals, dramas—they’re inescapable. I did spend a lot of time wandering today. Can’t say it was the best time ever spent. But I wandered, and I watched.
And that’s why I’m writing.
There is going to be a day when it is going to be 12:01 AM, I’m tired, and it’s a school night to boot. And I’ll be here, editing a blog post anyway. Because I must. To read is to breathe. To write is to live. There are nuances to discover, on the page and in my life, and I hope to capture them here as best I can. Rob is supposed to be helping, but that guy—well, you’ll have to read his own writings to get to know him proper.
I’m still awake. It’s 10:41 PM. And I think: I could still start that book, if I wanted. Not everyone is into this kind of thing. High adventure. Highlighters. Connections. Heroes and demons. Archetypes. Sexy villains. Symbolism and crap. But I am.
So, prepare yourselves: it begins now.