1984 Follow Up

Alright. Well, I finished 1984. Actually I finished it a while ago. But I never reported on it like I said I would. But now I am:

 I loved it. I loved it so much. I loved the description but not even that I loved Winston's thoughts. I loved being able to have his world described to me in a way that was not fact, but instead as how he viewed it. I enjoyed much of the rawness of what was said. How he wanted to smash Julia's head in and rape her and how he felt a little bad about it but not really because that's what he wanted to do and that that was the world he lived in. What I loved more than anything, though, was that there was no happy ending. There was nothing spectacular about Winston and Julia's end. They turned out exactly like anyone else who'd committed thoughtcrime and I loved it. I loved that it made absolutely perfect sense. In reality, Winston could never have taken down the party. In the book, Winston wasn't able to take down the party. It was realistic. It was what should have happened, yet while I was reading it I was certain that that couldn't be the way it was going to turn out because that's just not how it works. Books have happy endings. Everyone knows that. The protagonist comes through in the end, against all odds, to save the day. When that doesn't happen I think as readers we feel cheated, but that's what I like about it. Because really, we're only being cheated when we're given a happy ending.

Well...

Friend 1: you guys believe in a Heavenly Father, right?

Friend 2: yeah. 

Friend 1: so what about a heavenly mother?

Friend 2: uhhh-

Friend 1: well, I know who it is. 

Friend 2: what?

Friend 1: it's Sarah Pailin. 

Friend 2: no it's not. 

Friend 1: yeah cuz you see-

Friend 2: I don't even want to listen to you right now. 

Friend 1: no you gotta hear me out-

Friend 2: *walks away.*

Friend 1: but... you didn't even listen to my reasoning behind it.

Here I go again.

And of a sudden I thought, "What if he's doing the same thing? What if he's only ignoring me because he thinks I don't like him and he doesn't want to get hurt? What if this isn't hopeless and maybe one day he could love me back just like I love him!?" And of a sudden, somewhere deep inside me, my heart started crying and said, "For God's sake can't we let this go? I'm tired of breaking..."

Merry Christmas

I hope that everyone is able to have a merry Christmas this year. I hope that no harm comes to anyone and that the world will be joyous. I don't care if you celebrate Christmas or not I just want you to have a good day. I don't want anyone having a bad Christmas; I want it to be happy for all. And I know this is a terribly unrealistic thing to want and hope for, but I want it anyway, and I think that's part of what Christmas is about: wanting unrealistic things and then being grateful for what is actually given to you. That's why every year I make sure to ask for a pony. So Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. 

Not A Memoir

I think that every snowflake

Deserves to be kissed

Not by anyone in particular

Just anyone who happens to care

They deserve to know they're special 

Because though everyone knows

No snowflake is the same

Nobody takes the time to 

Notice their differences 

And have you ever looked at a snowflake

At the intricacies it was made of

It's so amazing

A little city structure 

Made of such thin bits 

So complex so fragile

Every snowflake deserves to be kissed

But not every snowflake deserves to melt

1984 by George Orwell

A friend of mine recommended Animal Farm and 1984 by George Orwell to me a couple years ago so I went out and bought both of them. I read Animal Farm very quickly and enjoyed it so much I started right in on 1984. I never finished it. Mostly because I tried to read it along with two other books and I wasn't that into it. I'm going at it again and even though I'm probably only reading it twenty or thirty minutes a week, I'm loving it. To insure that I actually finish it this time I am pledging to report what I think of the book while I read it and when I finish it on this blog. Self motivation: set. Who knows, maybe this will be a new thing I do. 

Playing My Guitar

There is no way of describing how this feels. There aren't enough words in my vocabulary to explain what it feels like, and even if there were, where would I begin: how the smooth pick feels in my hand as it bounces off the strings and how the edges have little nicks in them? But what if I was picking with my fingers for a time? Would I describe how the edges of my thumb and pads of my first, second, and third fingers turn black and hurt so badly but I couldn't care less. Or how about my left hand will so lightly support the neck of the guitar and how my fingers press so tightly against the steel strings I've battled against ever since getting the instrument? I could talk about how I take pride in them no longer hurting the tips of my fingers and that I refuse to switch them out for nylons even though they make learning bar chords that much harder. I could explain how I can play for hours on end and only start to feel pain at hour three and still not be tired of playing. I could talk about the ache I get in my back since I don't have proper posture or the kink in my neck from looking down at the music when I play cross legged on my bed or ground. I could easily get lost in painting a picture of what it's like to try to learn bar chords and how I'm almost afraid the strings are going to cut through my skin yet how satisfying it is when I start I notice an improvement in how I play them. Even feeling the curved wood lying perfectly on my right leg fills me with joy because it feels like it was made to be there (which I guess it kind of was). And when I sing and play I prefer to wear a tank top because then I can feel the vibrations of the music and my voice matching each other. It's probably the most beautiful thing I've ever experienced. But even when I'm done my fingers are black, and smell like metal and taste like copper. And even when my hands cramp, and I get the callouses, cuts, bruises, raw knuckles I still can't ever seem to play enough. There is absolutely nothing about the experience I am not in love with. And I guess that's why there are not enough words or ways to describe it.