I Can't Believe I'm Writing This

I have a confession... I finally gave in. To the Twilight hysteria. I couldn't take it anymore. One, I sort of loved the soundtrack to the movie. Which then turned in to me watching the movie. And I'm a sucker for angsty love stories, especially when there is an air of intrigue and mystery.

As in, does she become a vampire?



Seriously. This is important information. And no one would tell me. "Read the books," they would say. And I would huff and puff and in my literary snobbery proudly proclaim that I'm "too good for young adult novels."

But after months of no answers, and then seeing the New Moon trailer... wait, he is a WEREWOLF? I couldn't take it anymore. I needed answers, and apparently the only way I was going to get them would be by reading the saga.

And now, here I am, blogging about a fictional teenage love story that I so adamantly refused to read. And it's taken over my life, where I haven't even blogged in weeks (and there's so much to blog about)!

The worst part is that these books are terribly written... seriously, I just finished New Moon and there were so many grammatical errors it was annoying (editors, anyone). And don't get me started on the whole Volturri scene, what a waste of a climactic storyline (at least it looks like the movie director took some artistic discretion and gave it some action).

Nonetheless I am obsessed. I had a dream about vampires last night, what is wrong with me? And I had to go buy the third book because I'm too far back in the "hold list" at the library.

I. Just. Need. To. Know. How. It. Ends.

Until then, my life belongs to this saga. My blog will go unwritten. I have two books to go.

Oh, and Harry Potter for the win. :)

Don't Send The Search Party

Don't be alarmed. I am still here. My Google reader continues to be my number one checked website, aside from Facebook. I just haven't been blogging.

A large part of it stems from a conversation I had with my dad about separation of personal and private life, which led to me making my previous blog completely private, and removing the link to this one from all social networking sites.

But then it just turned into me not writing- because I don't know how to write what I feel without being personal. I can't mask the emotions, whether good or bad, they are the reality of this stage of my life. A stage that is full of contradictions. A stage that is a measuring stick of where I am relative to others, or rather, where I am not. And of course, the ever present question of where I want to be. But it also is a stage that I share with millions of my peers, and by documenting all the highs and lows I've found that I am not alone in my confusion.

In my blogging absence I've done a lot of soul searching and examining new goals and directions, new friendships and old ones, too. In the last month I've teetered between being ready to pack everything up and go home, and the next instant I'm flooded with all the memories that chased me out of the Midwest. It's the conundrum of fearing the return to entrapment by way of a small town, but not being able to find my footing in the big city. I can envision perfectly the life I want, yet I am struggling to see it through.

Perfection, it's always been my problem. My expectations are always set high, perhaps too high so that failure is always within reach. I stopped writing because I feared people would see these flaws through my words, and I hid behind the intermittent comments of praise and positivity that I litter the blogosphere with.

While I gathered so much inspiration from all the creative, positive, and lovely bloggers that have quickly become a daily read; an anxiety began to settle-- I had so much to say, to write, and was ashamed that I couldn't emulate such beautiful, uplifting posts. At least not every day.

And so, maybe it's best to separate the personal from the private. But I've never been one do what people say is wise. I am known best for my stubbornness and defying common sense. But at the end of the day, what I write is not fodder for dismissal in a professional setting, nor is it worthy of scandalous chatter. It is life through my eyes, as a twenty-something. Sometimes it's positive, and other times the depression settles in. But it is real. And it is me.