Musing to Music

I write and I type and I click and I clank

and I listen to the beat of those keys on the plank.

And it’s all too much and I know that it’s true

that I need soft music to dim that mechanical tune.

Pandora is slowly becoming my best buddy. I was a little late to the game in discovering it, but now that I’ve come to build my custom playlists around whatever mood I could possibly be in, I just can’t begin to articulate intelligently without that smooth jazz station that I’ve come to rely upon.

  • Musicals for when I’m feeling peppy and fantastical, but also slightly depressed.
  • Country for when the sun is shining and I’m in a tractor riding mood.
  • Chumbawamba for those days I wear neon scrunchies and yearn for my 90’s childhood.
  • Disney for every single day that I want to be happy.
  • Love Songs for times that I want to envelop my feelings in sap.
  • Smooth jazz for when I’m feeling classy and ready to write the greatest works known to man.

When I listen to music I feel a vitality and energy present in my words that I’d be missing without those soulful tones. I feel ready to write, eager to express, and positively busting to shine through that traditional text and set my words alight with passion.music

The Reblog

Some days I have nothing original to say. If you paid close enough attention, you’d realize that even on those days when I’m saying something, it doesn’t often mean much. And if you actually listen to the not much that I’m saying, you’re bound to be woefully disappointed.

Which is why I utilize the reblog.

reblog symbol

The reblog acknowledges that you are lazy, but also shows that you can be both lazy and caring. It does not judge you for your lack of originality, but applauds your efforts for reading and understanding the works of others more qualified (and probably more entertaining) than you. The reblog is ever kind and only increases the standard of your prized and dear website, all while making the original poster feel like a million dollars even if they don’t see one cent from their work.

So yes, some days the words that come out of my head are downright unintelligible giberty gab herbity gerb, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate the schwerbity plurb of another.

Flingenclopp.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered They’re Yours

50 years from now the only mail people will be familiar with will be of the “e” variety.

pig mailboxNo one will express their love of farm animals with a pink porky piggy mailbox, no one will experience the thrill of raising the little red flag on the side of the pink porky piggy mailbox, and no one will walk away from the pink porky piggy mailbox with the taste of envelope glue still on their tongue.
As a lover of all things pink piggy, I’m fighting this growing trend with paper and pen. I’ve adopted a few somewhat willing pen pals, a resolution to finally pay for some colorful stamps, and an appreciation for the wonders of the past and simple pleasures.

I cherish nothing more than reclining at my polished oak desk by the roaring fire that’s aged the pages of the classics in the nearby cramped bookshelf while dipping my quill feathered pen in the inky blue well that contains thoughts and sentiments yet unbeknownst to me. And then cramming those thoughtful sentiments into the dorm’s mailbox once I’ve taped the envelope closed after unsuccessfully licking the flap until my tongue was raw.

IMG_1996However, while my virtual inbox continues to accumulate messages with beloved subjects such as “Dr Oz-FaT BustEr RevealeD” I’m just not receiving any letters in my physical mailbox meant for tangible letters. There is nothing more depressing than opening that off-gray squeaky door lid only to stare blankly at the off-gray empty inside. Yet the joy that one experiences when that off-gray empty inside is masked by a off-white letter is only rivaled by sitting on Santa’s lap as a four year old who knows they have a Barbie Dream House coming their way. It is that rare occurrence of actually receiving letters that keeps me looking to the mailbox, keeps me writing letters in hopes of a response, and keeps my heart permanently fixed on the pink porky piggy mailbox that I’d like to someday have a use for.

Support pigs everywhere, mail a letter today.

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Writing Exercises, My Kind of a Workout

When I was in the seventh grade, I had an English teacher named Mrs. Stroloski. Mrs. Stroloski made us learn and memorize the most difficult of vocabulary words (though I was completely enamored with the word disheveled), encouraged us to read from books far overreaching our comprehension level (in my expert opinion as a middle school student), and bid us to write in cursive at all times during her class period (a skill I hadn’t put to use since the fourth grade). Aside from her gorgeous handwriting and affinity for the color purple, I was never too fond of Mrs. S.

However, there was one writing drill that she would instruct the class to complete every Friday, and thanks to this exercise, I can look back on my seventh grade English experience with a little more appreciation than most of my middle school counterparts.

strong pencilHere’s how it worked: For 5 minutes, you had to write. No stopping. No pausing. No delays. Just words and letters. Even if you couldn’t think of your next sentence, you just had to repeat the same word or the same letter until your thoughts continued to flow. Nonstop. No limits. No topics. Just you, and the constant movement of your pen writing sloppily half-forgotten cursive down on your composition notebook.

writing drillLooking back now, I can’t remember most of what I wrote as a seventh grader. I remember complementing Mrs. Stroloski on choosing the color purple to adorn the classroom, I remember talking about how excited I was that they were serving pizza in the cafeteria right after an eventful and delicious taco day, and I also vaguely remember reading A Christmas Carol in her class and expressing my love and devotion to Santa Claus. Riveting stuff, I know. I may have even used the word disheveled a time or two or ten.

But I think that’s the moment when I realized that it felt good to write. I did not like how my cursive capital letters looked, but I sure did like expressing myself through the written word.

Sometimes I still practice this drill, as it seems great for relieving writer’s block, but often, I simply reflect on my classroom experience with Mrs. S. and wonder if the other kids that she’s taught over the years still recall this activity and are able to remember what the word disheveled means.

Pals of the Pen

I’ve always wanted a pen pal.

Ever since I was young, I’ve held an affinity for writing and a passion for connecting with other people.

The fact that we sit in traffic almost each and every day next to hundreds of people whose lives we will never know, whose circumstances we can only begin to imagine, whose hopes, dreams, and aspirations are a complete mystery to us but are also familiarly reflected in our own lives, is a truly unbelievable occurrence.

world with peopleThere are so many people in this world, and I’ve long harbored the dream to connect with those that I wouldn’t ordinarily have the chance to meet. I always knew that it would be difficult to travel, and I thought that just by communicating with someone via letter, I could experience their world and live their reality. I wouldn’t have to wonder any longer what the 60 year old woman in the green Honda liked to sing to on the radio, or who the 18 year old boy was talking to with a smile on his face.

I’ve never actually had a pen pal, but this blog is getting pretty darn close to fulfilling that dream of mine. Through this post, these pieces, this site, I’ve shared my world and connected with others from all different walks of life.

I know that when I publish this post, it’ll be just like mailing a letter to my long-standing pen pal, humanity.blank letter

The Reader

This describes my experience with blogging quite perfectly. I may not be the most articulate writer, or speak to the most profound and moving subjects, but I enjoy writing and don’t want to keep that passion all to myself.

If all my readers get out of my blog is “That girl is all over the place…” then my mission will have been accomplished, because at least it was read, at least it was acknowledged, and only then can it have the potential to be worthwhile.