If you scatter ideas like stardust, they tend to spill everywhere, linking the gaps between orbits into constellations. Sometimes they refuse to be more than abstracts: they blink at concrete forms and words, preferring instead to ramble around in your mind and voice. I like to see things in big-picture form: college is an exercise in details, and recharging from tackling a series of projects takes time.
In case it wasn’t clear, I have a fixation with stars and seeing both. Human eyes cannot see nebulae, true, but we are able to see constellations: so when I try to link ideas, sometimes it comes out as ‘constellation thoughts’ in my language. It’s fitting, because stars are so far-flung from one another, simple glittering pinpricks from so far away.
If days were charted like pinpoints on a grid, they would show a map among the weavings of the night sky.
blurry glances at the night sky – a list:
Papers were written out of order after notes were scrawled. There were hours spent in a tiny editing room, moments crying in awe as a story was praised, and a screenwriting class that made me feel alive. (Writers are often like each other when it comes to crack theories and horrified faces when they realize plot holes, and sitting in a class full of them twice a week was a sort of validation. Also, we really do sit and discuss all the ways we torture our characters. It’s a bonding experience.)
I wished I was coordinated like my roommates. I was homesick. I had friend woes. I was ‘spontaneously’ thrown into the act of playing guitar in front of people. *aHEM* I still got frustrated when people didn’t understand me or my going to college after I wrote about it (gasp!). I might be better about that, although it’s more honest to say that I’d like to think I’ve improved.
My television consumption skyrocketed. My camera skills came into existence and improved. The nights were full of science panels and late drives that melded trees and pathways into a single thought.
specific constellations – a list:
I worked on a film set, came back to my dorm and drank a Mountain Dew, and fell right asleep. I sat outside a dance that was too loud with a friend, and we talked for two hours instead. I bought art supplies with horror at the price tag, drank countless mugs of tea, and stayed up until 2AM and had to hide in the House of Representatives.
I went English Country Dancing, I woke up early to cook breakfast, and I froze in midstep with a grin on my face right down the way from Jobe Hansen. I woke up at the crack of dawn for over a week straight. I sang in front of people. Finals week was marked by insane deadlines, spontaneous plans, and footsteps by a lake like notes plucked on golden guitar strings.
Oh, and an epic road trip and concert with my guy.
It was perfect for the end of a year melting under the heat of oncoming summer beneath a brimming bowl of blue that holds the sun. Since then, I’ve spent a week at the beach reading, swimming, and reading some more. Oh, and sleeping. I might have finally caught up on sleep.
My thoughts are itching for a summer full of songs and airplanes and already-placed-stars to look at, amidst job-hunting and job-working and a million other things. It’s going to be an awesome blur of adventuring, and looking back at where I’ve come from is sometimes the best way to keep heading in the right direction.
It’s like the moment when you finally climb out of a car, and you stretch, and feel like you can run up a mountain. Or maybe it’s more like finally arriving way down in South Georgia, and you can flop on the grass and suck in a deep breath of cooling air as you try to take in the enormous blue of the stars.
It’s taking a step back from the micro-view, the swarming business and fluorescent lights and textbooks, and inhaling a lungful of spring air.