Dreaming Though I Cannot Sleep

     Are they not the most adorable things you've ever seen? Allow me to expound before you think I've gone completely insane.
     I visited the home of Joshua James the other day and he showed me around his farm. He has the most wonderful little farm, you see. He has three goats, several chickens, two beehive nests, and a whole lot of vegetables and fruit! They have a lot of space in their backyard and they've put it to extremely good use. Well, the man has introduced me to a new lifestyle that I'm very much in favor of. He says that having animals in your life is really therapeutic. Who could be opposed to that kind of therapy?
     It feels like a good idea. I'm going to do it as soon as I can. Please join me in seclusion.

     Oh, and I can't sleep. What else is new?

     Lucky for us, I can still dream.


Whit Happens

This Too Shall Pass

     I have no desire to go outside. I still wear hoodies, though it's summer. I still wear jeans because I never get too warm in an air conditioned house. I still don't wear shoes because I never wear shoes.

     I have no desire to pick up my guitar and strum and hum the blues like I used to. She stays in the case where I admire her from a distance. She stays in the corner and collects dust as I spit excuses as to why I can't play her. She stays there to keep me company in my room for one.

     I have no desire to write. I won't scribble poems in the margins of my notebooks. I won't fill up ridiculous amounts of memory on my phone texting letters to people who aren't here. I won't type my life to a blog that used to be my best friend.

     I have no desire to move. I lay about doing nothing in particular. I lay in bed trying to take a nap, though I took one just minutes prior. I lay on the floor listening to vinyl that's been played hundreds of times that day.

     I could tell you what I don't want, but not what I actually do want.

     I should tell you that this will pass over.

     I won't.

     But, now I've contradicted this whole post.

     Don't get me wrong, I'm not depressed or anything like that. Never. I don't know what it is, this lost motivation of mine. Let it be boredom, let it be exhaustion. Whatever it is, let it be.


Whit Happens

Vinyl, Cassettes, and Blockbuster

     I've been irked, to say the least. Not that it surprises any of you. When am I not irritated by something? Oh well.
     Today's annoyance, or rather, this whole summer's annoyance has been with technology. I've never been too terribly keen on how all these wonderful, convenient contrivances work, but even so, you'd think I'd have warmed up to it by now. What's even worse is that I've grown up on these gadgets. Have you any idea how embarrassing it is when my mum comes up and can fix the computer while I would just stare at it blankly? She's always been more equipped in those scenarios than I'll ever be.
     Whether it be the nonconformist side of me or my ignorance, I can't find the same pleasures in our current technology as I can in burned out contraptions. Cassette tapes and vinyl records are beginning to take over my life. Not that that's a bad thing, but y'know, it's odd. I finally got my record player. It's a Crosley CR40 and it's my best friend. My mum gave me her old Walkman a while back after I loudly vocalized that I wished I had one since my iPod never seemed to work. Naturally, thrift stores have become my favourite shopping locations. I can get cassette tapes for as low as 25 cents and 33 1/3 vinyls for as low as a dollar. No one appreciates Instant Cameras anymore either. I do. I got mine for 3 dollars at a thrift shop! Mind you, the battery alone is another 5 and the film is about 20 via eBay. I like it anyway.
      You know what else hardly anyone notices, let alone uses anymore? Blockbuster. I love Blockbuster. I can get video games, movies, television series, treats, magazines, and other miscellaneous items there. They gave me a free Winnie the Pooh sack looking thing too, which makes me like them even more. The first movie we rented was Blast from the Past. Oldies. You can't go wrong with those. Only problem is that now I'm looking for a man who has been living underground with his parents for 35 years. It'd be nice to meet a completely naive, yet perfect, well rounded gentleman every now and then. But, that never happens unfortunately. In fact, my luck is running out with men. Every single one I ever like is either married or gay, as it would turn out. That's fine I s'pose. It's not really a priority.
     Finally, regarding letters. Why doesn't anyone write letters? I don't understand why some people can't talk to people unless it's via internet or text message. Not that I'm one to talk I guess, here I am blogging. I've kind of insisted that anyone who wants to talk to me has to write me a letter. Some people complain that we live too close together for them to send me a letter in the mail. In that case, come to my house and engage in a face to face conversation. As you can imagine, no one asks me to play with them anymore. And that's alright as well.