Ivona said tonight that she likes when I write blog entries because it’s like a window to my inner thoughts that I don’t normally vocalize or go out of my way to share. I realized that’s largely true, and not necessarily because I don’t want to share things with her, but when I don’t write it’s almost like I don’t even think about things too deeply, or analyze my own feelings. Writing is the only way I know how to figure things out, of being truly introspective. The only time I really felt like that without having to write to get at it was when I was living in France; being in a place where you don’t really speak the language at first forces you to be pretty introspective. Oddly enough, I did some of my best writing (the non-introspective kind) when I was there. It’s part of the reason I want to go back so badly.

This lack of passion and feeling of being unfulfilled and unsure of goals and direction impacts my writing pretty heavily. Instead of writing fun, interesting, humorous (I hope) things, it’s all introspective, personal junk. It’s great for me, because I feel like I’m getting at the things that are eating up my subconscious, but at the same time I still feel stagnated and like there’s a shroud over me, preventing me from thinking up any good material.

Who knows, maybe I’m just bored and I need more going on in my life to inspire me. I was looking forward to, and am enjoying aspects of, this break between semesters, but I’m realizing I need that stimulation every day to get the creative juices flowing (sorry if I get any on you, I’m pretty awful at controlling my juices). I can’t wait to have a busy schedule and challenging classes again, because now I’m just imagining all the things I want to do with my life instead of actually doing them. I want to finish this last semester and just leave. I’m not sure where yet. I want an adventure. Or a job. That’d be ok, too.