Watch What Happens, Alana Williamson

 Alana was sparkly, as always. She shimmered in her hannah montana costume and bounced on her toes, ready to sing. Today was her first talent show, the sparkly kindergartener who somehow got admitted into the show, had prepared for this moment. This child was obsessed with singing, she was determined to be a singer. General Music class? Um, excuse you, you meant Alana's personal practice room with the world's greatest teacher to guide her. Alana looked forward to having music in her day, everyday and now she got to perform a solo for her school! What could go wrong? Alana trudged onto stage in her purple sparkly dress, microphone in hand staring at her shoes. That's out of character for her. Why, this child lit up her bedroom! She sang High School Musical and Camp Rock as though they were the national anthem. Kidz Bop in the car, in the kitchen, and everywhere in between. If a movie had music, it was a sing along! So why... did she look so scared--so still. Alana looked to ...

 Joan Didion asserts that keeping a notebook is an action to reconnect with ourselves, although it may not serve very useful in accurately recording time. Instead keeping a notebook records who we once were, reminds us vaguely of the meaning experiences once had to us. Didion shifts describing how the memories all come back, and not necessarily in a comforting way. Didion depicts the aging of herself and the people around her, which was unnerving as a reader. Didion's piece encourages readers to not lose touch with their past selves. As time passes Didion becomes less and less recognizable to herself from years before, which is understandable as people change overtime. But Didion's change in thought process was something I recognized in myself, to elaborate it's easy to become more concerned about current events or notice aging and negativity in day to day life. Moreover, something that resonated with me was the fact that old versions of yourself can resurface when you leas...

 The universe is a vast, shining, ever-changing expanse. It's beautiful. If only people took the time to look out the window and stare at the night sky. To float out to the clouds, out of the atmosphere and into the stars. For a brief moment we can see them, we can see all the stars in the night sky, compacted into a single moment on our pale blue spec. But only for an instant, we can only live in our night sky, you and I, feel so happy I could die moment. Because we're too distracted, too caught up in everything else. The worries and issues we've created to consume our lives. To separate us from the dazzling expanse of life that is ours to be had. Possession? Why is joy associated with what you have? If it must be, then I would like to have the night sky, I would like to have joy from looking into the expanse alone. Take joy in living a life of joy, a life in which I love others and marvel at how many stars can exist in a moment. Marvel at the life I can live owning nothin...

 Hello! I'm not sure how to start, but I'm going to write things anyway. Quick disclaimer this post isn't very well thought out or essay-like. As of now I'm sort of typing the thoughts as they come. I really like rain and I'm not fond of cold weather. But I like it when it rains on a cold day, and I fairly enjoy the quiet that follows the cold. It's so nice to walk out into familiarity blanketed in snow, to be comforted by the quiet. It hasn't snowed recently, it's been a long time since i've heard peaceful quiet. You may question that statement as we've been home for months, there's bound to have been quiet. But the silence is all consuming, its strangling the sound of my voice, restricting my words to my mind--to myself. I sit in silence contemplating my shortcomings, looping the failures of the past days, hah who needs spotify when I have voice in my head 24/7? Ack, that's rough. Just thoughts, just words.

 Hello! I found a printed letter with unfamiliar, yet recognizable handwriting on it. I read the written message at the bottom of the document, but it didn't make sense. HICU? Barclays? Mom? This message was not written in my mom's handwriting, who is this note from? I looked to the top of the document, I looked to the printed text to discover this letter was from my grandmother. The letter was concerning hospital payments for my grandfather's treatment. He died of cancer among other things a few months ago. I knew I had other notes from classes or rambling, but I had to keep looking. I kept telling myself to find something new, find writing that's not mine. I found it. Writing that's not mine, words I wasn't meant to see.