And I'm not sleeping now
I started a blog post on Thursday night and then didn't post it, which is okay because it didn't say much of anything. I don't have much of anything at all to say right now, actually. It's a three-day weekend and tonight I watched the Golden Globes, which made me happy since awards shows always make me happy because they remind me of my long-buried dream of being an actress or at least being a part of that world, and tomorrow I'm finishing up my homework and volunteering at the foodbank and I haven't done anything this weekend besides sleep and cut things out of magazines and get glue all over my hands.I have this secret dream of being an artist, which I guess probably isn't so secret to anyone who reads these posts or actually talks to me. I guess I'm so amazed by these people who can create something out of nothing, or who can take something so nothing and turn it into something amazing. There's a line in a Bukowski poem about Van Gogh and being too talented to make money and, oh my God, people who are that astounding, just astound me. I don't like reading Shakespeare very much, but I like Shakespeare the person, or rather Shakespeare the character who has been formed out of centuries of speculation and evidence and opinions and guesses and rumors, the man who somehow came up with all this magic that's timeless and beautiful and has inspired so much of what has become classic.
I'm not sure that makes any sense. I've been having that problem lately, not being able to get what's in my head onto paper, or keyboard I guess, in a way that it's clear. I think I'm thinking so much that I can't even understand myself anymore.
