Internet > Ink

          I began furiously writing in my journal, it had been a few days sense I found the time to write without rhyme, or to give time for a second thought, no audience to recognize I missed a dot I write every day but not always without a plot. I write my dreams down every morning, not from my heart but from my mind. A testimony of a recollection from a life lived in another realm. I write this blog, when I feel an inspirational urge to intrigue myself with what I may conceive I surge onto the web and splurge with analytical me. My last writing releases are possibly my most rewarding, consisting of happy how are yous to and fro my friends and family. But when I write in my journal I get a different sense of satisfaction. I release literally everything, without thinking twice of how to delicately lace my words to give you a taste of my nerves. In my journal I don't worry about who will read it and what they may think of me, or how they might detect my tone to be known as anything other than postive, insightful, or interesting. I write about all ends of the spectrum until that infuriating moment when your pen runs out of ink. Which brings me to my blog and its title, Internet wins the longevity award.

               Why I originally was drawn towards my blog was because I wanted to share that I finished another book today. No I didn't read a book in one week. I like to read multiple books within the same time period. Along with a few other novels I had been reading Sentimental Education by Robert Gustave. When I began the journey into these pages it became a cumbersome chore. Embarrassingly enough this is my first classical feat. Written to take place in the mid 1800's this book is full of wits and historical bits. Looking over the last 100 pages genuinely gratified me. Not because I was nearing the end of what began a trechorous path, instead I was enjoying the words that took me there. I even felt a solem undertone when I defeated the last page.
                I can relate this trivial matter to so much more in life. I'm able to take a step back and acknowledge the fact that I may have a short attention span. That I definelty get satisfaction in completion. That my vocabulary is no where near diverse enough for me to converse without sounding arbitrary. That often times I take things for granted until they are no longer a peice of my life. This book which is so beautiful and delicate, every page portraying an era with such vivid expertise, this book I wanted to overcome. To dominate it. To devour it. Then when I felt it slipping away, with every page turning I'm reminded that the end is near. I mourn the end like I'm about to lose a dear friend. This I can acknowledge. The fact is I'm not mourning a great loss. The fact is my emotions aren't involved. This fact allows me to see a great deal more than my relationship with a good book.