![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Yesterday morning had me a bit depressed, what with the rejection and whatnot. I was definitely on the verge of tears for a good portion of it, and I stayed in my room and played video games and read comics for hours until I finally stirred myself for dinner. I got my first exposure to air nearly 12 hours after I was woken up by two apologetic Dins, and I sat on my own in Annenberg, slowly chewing slices of cucumber and thinking.
I had talked to my mom for a while in the early afternoon, and she urged me to stop beating my head against the wall over and over again and just do something I enjoy. I told her, I don't know if I can stop with the head-beating, but after some thought I realized that going to my roommate's a cappella concert would be one of the worst things I could do for my frame of mind at that point, so I finished my cucumber and decided to just fuck it all and spend the evening doing something I knew would make me happy.
So I showed up where HRSFA people were gathering, and we watched Stargate, a show which I've seen only one episode of before, and that was cheerful. Then we did Milk and Cookies, and we all sat around reading stories to each other, and it came to my turn and I read one of my very favorite pieces, an Orson Scott Card short called "Unaccompanied Sonata." I don't know what other people think, but I've realized more and more lately that what I really would like to do with my life is become a storyteller... I guess it's just an extension of my love affair with my own voice, but I want to share stories more, with more people.
So I'm rambling quite a lot, but that's because, after M&C, we went to a common room and stayed up the rest of the night playing word games and making cards for the upcoming game of 1,000 Blank White Cards. And then at 5:30 in the morning we realized it was getting light, so we packed up and went to the bridge to watch the sun rise and by God it was beautiful. Utterly, completely quiet and still, and the pink light shining on the red-domed belltower of Dunster house, and the spectrum of colors in the sky reflected in the river, and then at the very end when the sky was turning orange, the perfect contrail rising from behind Leverett. And the discovery of the little paintings hidden in the bridge railings, and the ducks in the water and the chill in the air and I left that bridge feeling like an utterly different person than the one woken up in his bed twenty-four hours previous to learn that he just didn't cut it.
And now the sun is up and it reflects off the weathervane atop Lowell house's belltower into my bedroom window and it's going to be a beautiful day.
I had talked to my mom for a while in the early afternoon, and she urged me to stop beating my head against the wall over and over again and just do something I enjoy. I told her, I don't know if I can stop with the head-beating, but after some thought I realized that going to my roommate's a cappella concert would be one of the worst things I could do for my frame of mind at that point, so I finished my cucumber and decided to just fuck it all and spend the evening doing something I knew would make me happy.
So I showed up where HRSFA people were gathering, and we watched Stargate, a show which I've seen only one episode of before, and that was cheerful. Then we did Milk and Cookies, and we all sat around reading stories to each other, and it came to my turn and I read one of my very favorite pieces, an Orson Scott Card short called "Unaccompanied Sonata." I don't know what other people think, but I've realized more and more lately that what I really would like to do with my life is become a storyteller... I guess it's just an extension of my love affair with my own voice, but I want to share stories more, with more people.
So I'm rambling quite a lot, but that's because, after M&C, we went to a common room and stayed up the rest of the night playing word games and making cards for the upcoming game of 1,000 Blank White Cards. And then at 5:30 in the morning we realized it was getting light, so we packed up and went to the bridge to watch the sun rise and by God it was beautiful. Utterly, completely quiet and still, and the pink light shining on the red-domed belltower of Dunster house, and the spectrum of colors in the sky reflected in the river, and then at the very end when the sky was turning orange, the perfect contrail rising from behind Leverett. And the discovery of the little paintings hidden in the bridge railings, and the ducks in the water and the chill in the air and I left that bridge feeling like an utterly different person than the one woken up in his bed twenty-four hours previous to learn that he just didn't cut it.
And now the sun is up and it reflects off the weathervane atop Lowell house's belltower into my bedroom window and it's going to be a beautiful day.
