But I was thinking about how I'd go to a store (wherever they sell this type of thing) and get a giant sheet of white paper. And I'd hang it up in the living room and just doodle on it a little bit all the time over the year. And other people could come over and doodle on it or doodle-sign it. And at the end of the year I'd have this giant doodle that I could save or burn or give to dumb little kids because they don't know what art is.
And if we filled it up I'd just get another one!
Also I'd get lots and lots and lots of Peace Tea.
Also I'd remake throne chair.
And tapestries!
And christmas lights! So many christmas lights! Living room, bedroom, hallway. All-ways!
And some moldy thing in the fridge!
...not that one.
And speakers for music-tunes.
And a space base WITHOUT a bunk-ed bed. (that one is going to take some crafty crafting)
And a dragon-panda. Like...it's like...breathing-fire thing...black and white...likes sushi...a baby?...I don't know I'm gonna have to think about that one.
But it's going to be really great and greatly real and I don't even care if I'm holed up alone in there for the whole year because I've had enough lack of privacy to last me for the rest of forever.
Senior year is finally going to be housing done right.
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I think writing and anything creative should be a celebration. A celebration of varying degrees but at the center of it all should be an affirmation of life. Even writing about failure, ESPECIALLY failure! And of all the failures, the best one is the failure to communicate. At least for me. You might have your own favorite way to fail but I like communication best.
We all fail to communicate. All the time. Every time. In obvious ways sometimes, like when I saw my RA and he was like, "Hey" and I did that thing where I opened my mouth but my throat kinda closed up and this really faint "hey" came out. But you can never truly understand or truly communicate anything. If you could have that connection, like really have that complete connection, that'd be like sharing the same brain. You'd love that person. How could you not accept them and love them when in that moment they are you and you are them?
Like, we all have our normal relationship with Oreo cookies, and they're awesome. But can you even imagine the uber-consummation you'd feel if you knew that part of you WAS an Oreo cookie and part of an Oreo cookie was YOU? It'd be like this delicious cookie that could completely understand you in every way and then you dunk yourself in milk, eat it, and plow through another sleeve whether they contain parts of you or not because, SHEESH, I ate one Oreo cookie, I better eat twenty.
You'd have to love yourself first, of course. But let's not dwell on that.
So, by some weird logic, any attempt to write or communicate and share an idea (excluding practical forms of communication necessary for survival like: "Hey, that walrus is reloading its shotgun. Run!") is an attempt to find understanding and in that understanding, love. So how can writing not be a celebration?
Well you might say: but true understanding and communication is impossible. It will always fail. So that's really depressing because that implies that love is impossible and will always fail. I'LL NEVER BE AN OREO COOKIE! Which is true. Kinda. But there's honesty. If you know that all your writing is a failure and you understand that you will fail then you'll be honest. Honest writing is knowing your limits and humor is knowing those limits and breaking them. And you learn those limits through failure! So every time you fail is like a step towards honesty!
That's why I think honesty is the most important thing because that's our way out of our failure. And yeah, honesty can't be perfectly communicated either but it can build trust and maybe that trust can act as a buffer and give us some tolerance for the stupid stuff that doesn't come across right. And if we allow for that wiggle-room in communication then we might come pretty dang close to really understanding and accepting. And you know...like love and happiness and sharing candy n' stuff.
So yeah, writing is a celebration. And hopefully you trust me enough to not hate me for going on that indulgent rant and as an apology I present to you this demonic blueberry muffin I made.
RAWR RAWR RAWR! I LIKE PEA SOUP!!
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