The Owl Book

The book is covered in multi-colored, cartoon owls, bursts of color and tiny hearts. It has a purple ribbon to hold my place and a strap to hold it closed. It also harbors the ideas that spill out of my mind and from my pen onto the purple lined pages. My messy script is scrawled over the pages. When inspiration strikes me, the jolt is written down in the Owl Book. I write my dreams and expectations, favorite quotes, lines from movies, poems, doodles, day-fantasies, hopes and everything else in this book, including some pictures from magazines of my ideal wedding dress. Ideas and random thoughts are kept nice and orderly in tthe Owl Book by date. I am a third of the way through it, writing on both sides of the page. I write what I can't share with anyone else in the Owl Book. I keep it in my bag or on my desk. If you see this book, do not open it, on pain of a long, slow, painful, malicious death. As silly as it is, The Owl Book is one of my most prized posessions. It is my confessional, companion, confidant, sketchbook, writing storage, dream holder. Without it, I would possibly lose my mind. Literally.

Update

Well. This week has been really hectic. And its only Thursday night.
Positives: I skipped class to go to the most important and amazing game of the season, where I drooled (figuratively) over (one) my current crush(es). :] I got a lot accomplished at GBIM, the missions organization I volunteer at. I also actually talked to number 2 of my crushes today. My mom came and saw me yesterday and my dad is coming tomorrow. I have the silliest roomie ever and I love her dearly. We have odd conversations. I am doing pretty well in all of my classes. We have also devised crazy cool bucket lists for each other. I will post them at a later date.

Negatives: I am tired. ALL of the time. Ugh. I just can't shake it. I think I am stressed out. Tuition is going up by almost a thousand dollars for next year. I am stressed about finding a job that I desperately need. I am so utterly and incredibly ready for spring break. I am counting down the days. (29) I'm still really struggling with my self-esteem. I know that is kinda a cliche thing to say, but hey. Its what I deal with. Everybody has their own struggles. Mine just happens to be my pudgy tummy and thunder thighs. Oh yeah, and the whole thing about marriage. A girl on my hall got engaged on Monday. And it seems to be that marriage comes up in class a lot. I think the forces of the world are trying to mock me. So what did I daydream about today? Crush number 1 proposing to me, of course. Was it amazing? Yes indeed. Will that ever in a squillion and a half years happen? No. Why? Because I am quite sure he has a crush on another girl on my hall. eh. C'est la vie.

Any other interesting tid-bits I feel my dedicated audience should be privy to? Hmm. I really do believe that somewhere in my future, I am destined to be married and become a mommy. Call it a gut feeling. Anyways, since I have no idea who my future husband could turn out to be, I have been writing him letters. I know, its weird. But have you ever met me? Really. Well. That seems to be all...

The Island...

So I had a dream. Most of you probably know all the background info on this dream. I decided to turn this into a short little blurb/story. Here goes:

I could hear the ocean. I could smell it too. The salty breeze caressed my cheek and I sought to find a path through the trees, anything to get to the water. I had to get to the beach, some strange force that I could not even begin to comprehend tugged on my limbs, made my heart start to pound. My feet found sand and I began to run. I had to find IT, though I had no idea what IT was. I felt that if I could not find this mysterious somthing that seemed to call to my soul, then a part of me would be completely crushed, pulverized, washed away by the ocean that called to me. Something compelled me to sit by the water's edge and I sat, letting the tide wash against my toes. A particularly strong gust of ocean air lifted my hair from my shoulders, blowing it around my face. The sun began to gently burn my skin and I felt completely content, forgetting the urgency I had so recently felt. Gulls called out in friendly greeting above me, the waves rippled into shore gently, the sand was warm and soft against my bare legs. Without realizing what I was doing, I laid back in the soft beige sand. I could not say how much time passed, but I was startled at the touch of something cold against my ankle. There, in the crystal blue water, a delicate silver chain floated. I reached to pick it up and wondered at how such an object had appeared on this beach. Nothing resembling a boat floated on the horizon. Even if a ship had lost its cargo, I did't care. This necklace wasn't what I was searching for. Something shiny caught my eye to my left. A copper bracelet was stuck in the sand. I reached for it but the bracelet got swallowed up in the masses of multi-colored jewellry that began to swim around me. It was dizzying, the vast array of color and types of jewellry that sifted through my fingers. IT was here, I could feel it. My hands pawed through the rings and necklaces, bangles and chokers, earrings and pins. I saw it! A flash of silver, a sparkle of color. My fingers seized on it and the other pieces of jewellry disappeared. A thin band of silver sat on my palm, the band a little bit tarnished. In the center of the ring, a gem that I had never seen sparkled in the sunlight. It was faceted like a diamond, and clear, but it also shone different colors, reds and greens and blues, like an opal. A diamond-opal clash. It was what I had been searching for, what had drawn me to the beach. I moved to slip the ring onto my left hand when...

I woke up.

Analyze and comment, por favor. :D

Time. War; Peace and my day.

In my Shakespeare class this morning, we were reviewing sonnets and discussing the themes represented in each one. We also talked about literary terms like personification. My crazy literary mind seized my pen and made me write this:

Time paces across the floor, worrying that he is both late and too early. He wrings his hands and gazes down at his wrists, checking each watch face. He forces himself to sit down in a thickly padded, deep red chair, folding his legs one over the other to appear nonchalant. He is waiting for her, though he has no idea why.

And before class was over, I had this idea:

Peace cowers in the corner, turning her delicate face away. She doesn't want to see any more. War stands with his arms crossed across his chest, blood dripping from his palms and making a splatting sound as it hits the stone floor. He watches her, seeing her weakness and her strength shift across her face like waves on the ocean. A damaged olive leaf flutters to the floor, a symbol of her spilled blood. Peace pushes a strand of filthy blonde hair out of her face to look up at War: dirt smudges his cheeks and a terrifying kind of menace lights his eyes. She has never been so frightened in her life but she knows that in order to preserve herself, preserve Peace, she has to fight back.

Any comments?

Ok, my day. Mondays are lame. I hate Mondays.
I went to class. Lame.
I gave a speech. Lame.
Got a card from my aunt. Not lame.
Went to intramural basketball with my roomie. Definitely not lame. Know why? Cute athletic college guys. Jealous? I am almost jealous of myself. Lol. If that makes sense. Probably not. I am really tired and I should stop rambling now because I have class tomorrow. Goodnight all.

Scars...

Because I am so incredibly attuned to detail in my writing, I notice things when I people watch. For the past two weeks, I have been observant of this boy named Samuel in my Media Ethics class. He is quite attractive. :D But I have noticed that he does not straighten his fingers on his left hand and has massive scars on his arms. I would love to ask him about them, but my introvert-ness will not allow it. I realize this may sound slightly creepy, but hey. Everybody people-watches. Its a fact of life. This is what I started writing in my class when I was supposed to be taking notes on my prof's presentation. Oops. :D

She always wondered, but never had the heart to ask, in case the story behind it brought up unnecessary pain. She shied away from painful things, from moments that could potentially cut deeply. Asking about something painful was not only difficult for the person asking, but for the one being asked, though she collected story ideas like some collected baseball cards or shot glasses. The scars on his arms bore the signs of grief. She carried her own scars, though hers were internal. Nevertheless, her creative mind developed all kinds of wild theories as to the origins of the marks on his arms. Catastrophic car crash? Fatal fire? Malicious melanoma? Possible situations flooded her mind like caustic chemicals that reacted and bubbled up into the most ludicrous stories ever fathomed. Her gazed flickered to his arms, ribboned with light purple scars, his curled fingers on the top of his desk. How did this once unblemished person become so damaged? She didn't think she would ever know.

I am thinking of continuing this in a longer story. :D

Waves...

So. I randomly started writing in my notebook last night and here is what I came up with:

The park bench was cold and slippery with dew, the metal making her fingers cold. She couldn't remember how she had gotten to the bench, just the sound of the waves beating against the shore. Her heart started to beat in time with the water, pulsing evenly. She gazed out over the water. "Might as well enjoy the view as long as I am here." She wrapped her sweater tighter around her and watched the reflections of the stars ripple in the surf. Her bare toes sank into the sand, hoping to encounter warmth, as though the sun's heat might still be locked somewhere deep down. She focused all her willpower on the crashing waves being sucked towards the beach by an invisible tide and attempted to reach back through the haziness of her memory. There was nothing to be done though; countless attempts at wringing a sane memory from her mind had only led to a pounding ache in her temples. A cool breeze spiced with salt drifted from the beach and a faint light began to play about the edges of the ocean. "Better head back," she muttered to empty spaces around her.

Intrigued? I am, and I wrote the thing! :D