let impatience have a go

A few things (if "few" is allowed to equal 4 and a poem) :

• Blogger won't let me upload pictures. Upset? Yes. But only by a little bit. If we were to measure it in terms of a threshold, then I'm standing just beyond said threshold. But it was a threshold of quit. I gave up trying to put a picture up here. In retrospect, I wasted time. ... It wasn't even all that important. In fact, it was zero important.
• 'Nother thing: I've developed a crush on in- words. A few that have found their way onto the blank-no-longer pages of my moleskin are inconsistency, intrude, inflict, interlude, intervene. I have others in my head, but I haven't yet let them out. It's kinda a gradual thing. But it makes me want to write inportant instead of important. Baffling. (Not really, but I wanted to use that word.)
• I was thinking the other day (four minutes ago), "Hey. Why do I always talk about myself when I blog?" That's when I realized A: it's not always, and B: it's... my blog. But still, I sometimes wish that I wasn't always writing about me and my writing and why I'm this or I'm that or mine or me or my or whomever is I. Is it weird that I feel guilty writing about myself? ... Probably. That said, I'm currently collecting art blogs that I love, and I want to share. So I'm going to shortly.

• I tend to be embarrassed by my blog, words, poems, stories, and the like. I don't think that's really a good thing. So I'm going to try to let myself tell people about this blog. I usually don't, or when I do it's a very shallow effort. I feel... like it's bragging. Anybody know how that goes? ... I do. I poem'd about it a bit earlier today. (Once again, trying to be more ¿confident? with my writing, I'll post it with this post.)

A Question I Discovered I'd Asked Myself

Am I writing for a purpose?

I let few people read.

But it feels a bit intimidating,

And I know there's stuff I lack.

I don't write quite as often

as I know I think I should.

Admittedly, I'm scared--

Even terrified (to a point).

I know there's stuff I lack,

But I still should write some more,

And let more people read words

I write to write some more.

And not just the same ones

I let 'cause I feel safe.

But am I writing for a purpose,

Or just to write some more?

Ate-eenn

Today I'm not seventeen anymore.

It feels so different...

And new...

And unique...

...

And...

adulty...?

Nope. It feels just the same, but with bragging rights.... Hm...

Oh well, it works.

Yep,

Josie

Hey Sean. Guess What. You're 22.

Hey Sean. Guess What. You're 22

Today is the twentieth

Now you're twenty two.

It's not your real birthday.

If it was you'd be pretty small.

But we'll still have a party.

'Cause it was your birthday once

(It was on the twentieth

in 1987)

Anyway, congrats.

It's been really cool

to have you back around again.

And now you're twenty two.

Sean, I wrote you a poem. Happy Birthday.

Love you,

Josie

Let it Snow. Please!?

I love snow. This makes my parents think I'm crazy. (One is from Guatemala, and one is from the Bay Area. I doesn't surprise me that snow isn't their favorite thing on Earth.)

There has been a lot of snow in Provo. It came in one huge charge. Then it's been hanging out. I've been in heaven. I even love driving in the snow. (Though I don't drive anymore. My car is dead now.) The snow has even stuck it out through the sun, thanks to the below freezing temperatures.

But now I'm sad.

Earlier today, massive, white, magical masses of the cold happiness were falling down on my yard as if they couldn't be happier to get out of the sky. I was happy.

Then it got warmer.

A few hours later I saw that it was raining. Seriously. Rain? It's winter. Rain is for when the grass is green and I can walk around barefoot outside. It should never be used to start to melt the snow. That's just season confusion.

I'm hoping for more snow. And more overcast days. I think, in general, I like it more when it's overcast. There is something ... cozy... about it.

Happy winter. :)

Josie

Shakespeare used to tend to write...

I'm in it. Yay Shakespeare! Come if you can. Tickets are cheaper in advance. Lemme know if you want one. I'd apreciate it.

Be there!

Josie