Don't shake the hands of fate

I don't want to stop writing.  There are all of these ideas bouncing around my brain, all of these thoughts and ideas coming together and falling apart like water molecules transitioning between the liquid and solid state.  Somewhere between writing and reading, my mood shattered.  Everything that had been so fixed and crystallized only moments before fell to pieces.

And I walked out of the shards of glass and blinked in the bright sunlight.  I don't know what it was or how it happened, but I went from one extreme to the other...in a favorable direction for once.  And now I can't stop thinking about things to put down.  Phrases that sound nice.  Sentences that seem to convey meaning.  Sentiments that would do wonders in a memoir.

I read Palahniuk's collection of non-fiction stories over the course of the past few days.  That might very well be what sparked this need to keep writing.  Some things he said though really rang a bell.  I won't go back to find the specific quote, but he mentioned that life is never laughable when you're living it, that it can be downright unbearable.  And in this way, going back and writing about it makes it bearable...interesting, even.  At another point, he mentioned that Fight Club was a smattering of his life and the lives of his friends, that it was a lot of nonfiction tied together with strings of make-believe to make it all flow.

That struck me.  Because I've spent a lot of my free time lately (since I'm so unaccustomed to it) thinking about my life, and it doesn't seem like much of anything special.  I'm not much of a story-teller on the whole.  But I can find things even in my boring, ordinary life that can be put together into something people marvel at and laugh at.  I forget that this is what happens when getting to know new friends.  The stories of my adventures between the ages of fifteen and eighteen have been my go-to icebreakers for introducing myself in a more meaningful way to people who are in the process of becoming friends for quite some time.

There's something about this location that isn't good for me.  Maybe it's the slightly increased air pollution, or the harder water.  I generally think it's mostly a matter of the environment bringing back unfavorable memories from nights spent plastered against this very wall, clinging to this pillow and trying to muffle my crying so as not to wake anyone at 2 am.  That was a very specific example, but there are many like it, from everywhere in the vicinity, and it feels like every time I come back, there's something that brings all of these negative emotions out in me again.

I don't think there really was a point to this.  But I want to write.  I want to keep putting these pieces down.  I'm out for the moment, or my fingers grow tired (don't they always, though), and I have other things to do.  So perhaps I will come back.  Perhaps this mood will breathe some much-needed life that's been missing for quite some time into this blog.  I doubt it, unfortunately, but we will see.