Bulk

The first thing that comes to mind when I see or hear the word "bulk" are the set of words that rhyme with "bulk" such as "hulk" and "sulk". The English language is fascinating to me sometimes. So is the human brain, especially in those circumstances when saying a word over and over again forces it to lose meaning. When we start to really analyze the words we use they take on a completely different meaning. Perhaps I'm spewing nonsense, and perhaps this is an attempt to wax poetical, but the words our brain chooses to use at a moments notice is so interesting to me. As for example, I used the word "set" in the first sentence of this paragraph. Lately I've been studying for my math midterm tomorrow, so it's natural that some math language creeps into my vocabulary. (On a side note, I think set theory is fascinating as well.)


Five minutes goes by so fast I'm afraid I won't get to wrap up my thoughts in time!

Let's try something new.

In an effort to force creativity, or at least set aside time for it, I've decided to do a simple little writing exercise.

I'll go to a website that has a random word generator (such as this one) , and use that as inspiration. I'll write continuously for five minutes, and must stop when time is up. It can be fiction, or autobiographical, or whatever the hell ends up coming out of my fingers. It doesn't have to make sense. I don't know if I'll be able to keep this up on a daily basis, but maybe it will be something to do if I ever feel the need to be expressive.

And here we go.

Today's word: Direction.

I always get lost. It doesn't matter how many times I've been to a particular place; I will always get turned around and end up calling my mother in an exasperated tone hoping she'll be near a computer so she can GoogleMaps me out of my confusion. It's funny that I ended up being so bad with directions, considering my father is an outdoors-man who can go out into the woods with nothing but a compass and find his way back to the cabin with no trouble at all. Now that I had inherited the summer cabin, I thought maybe just being in these woods again, where he used to spend so much of his time, would somehow imbue me with some inherent sense of direction, like I could feel his presence guiding me. But here I was, in the middle of a forest clearing with no cell phone reception and no clue where the main trail was. The sun was about to set, and it was starting to get cold.

Sometimes I just like the act of typing.

I miss creativity.

Also, I am ready to come home. I've been in a weird state for the past week or so, but there are so many thoughts and feeling that I'm a bit overwhelmed when it comes to translating them to words. Also I don't feel like pouring out every last drop of my soul onto the internet, where anyone might happen upon it. I'm not looking for pitty or sympathy, and ranting is never fun to read. (On a side note, there is a girl I am Facebook friends with whose status updates are always, without fail, filled with complaints and bitchiness. I don't want to be that girl.)

I don't mean to sound vague, or give some mysterious allusion to my life, but I know (at least some) of the reasons I am feeling the way I am. So let's get back to the first sentence of this blog. I miss creativity. Blogging has been cast aside, music is scarcely played/sang, and I haven't been in a theatrical production in over a year.

Lately, I've been forced to question so many fundamental things about myself.

I know this blog is all over the place, but as mentioned, I can't really formulate a coherent train of thought right now.

Is it bad that I've considered talking to a therapist? I feel like sometimes I just need to get a lot off my chest without worrying about what the other person will think of me.

Emotional party of one? Right this way to your table.