My Life in Words

(The Turret Stairs, painting by Frederic Burton)

 

“So, what do ya think?” Vince asked as he sat down beside me on the hard bench-like cushion. His presence was too familiar to break my concentration. I didn’t even flinch at is interruption.

 

“It’s very pretty,” I admitted as I studied the painting. Vince snorted softly.

 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be calling famous works of art ‘pretty’, Liv. Masterpieces are supposed to be ‘intriguing’ and ‘breathtaking’ and ‘thought provoking’ and shit like that.” His long fingers made quotes with each of the suggested words. “I’m thinking that saying it’s pretty is considered an insult.”

 

My hands quickly went to my mouth to muffle my laugh as he bumped his shoulder into mine teasingly. Thankfully the sound of my joy did not disrupt the other guests in the museum.

 

“Well then it’s heartbreaking, does that description work for you Mr. Art Snob?” I asked when my laughter died down.

 

Vince made no attempt to contain his laughter at his new title and smiled innocently, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, when he spotted my mock glare. He kissed me lightly on the cheek in an attempt to apologize and made a shooing motion with his hands to get my eyes to return to the painting. I happily obliged.

 

Vince was the farthest thing from an art snob. He wasn’t much for visual artistic beauty. He liked words though, and because of that he liked me. His company in the art gallery was a gift to me, his way of helping me stay sane as my deadline approached and inspiration evaded me. I’d mentioned once, in one of our conversations that didn’t really matter, how a friend of a friend visited an art museum with a group and had gotten enough inspiration from a portrait that she wrote a bestseller. It had just been something to say to pass time as we cleaned. I hadn’t expected him to be paying much attention and I certainly hadn’t anticipated him taking me on this mini adventure.

 

“You know, I really still don’t get how someone so against plagiarism can encourage stealing ideas from painters. I thought you creative types were all on the same side, ‘intellectual property’ and all that.”

 

“It’s not stealing,” I defended instantly and then realized he had been teasing. “It’s not like I’m painting a copy and claiming it as my own, I’m writing a story which may or may not be similar to the story the artist wanted to be told. Everyone sees things differently. It’s just inspiration, a spark that I’m looking for. Whatever I come up with will be my story, just as unique and unintentionally unoriginal as all the others.”

 

I looked from the knight and his princess to Vince who appeared so impressed and proud that I blushed and hid my face against his shoulder. He often told me that my rants were his favorite quality of mine.

 

“You made a little half rhyme with ‘told’ and own’,” he said to me which was enough to prompt me out of hiding.

 

“Those aren’t even close to rhyming,” I argued, previous embarrassment already forgotten.

 

“Well the way you said them made an almost-rhyme,” was his defense. “Now talk to me about the painting; that usually helps you come up with ideas.”

 

“I think the basic idea is pretty clear. There’s a princess and a knight and they’ve met on the stairs only to say goodbye. We don’t know why the knight is leaving or who he is to the girl who may not actually be a princess. They might be siblings, though probably not judging by the way he has his face against her arm.”

 

I don’t know how long I talked about the painting. I lost track of time completely. When my voice suddenly stopped mid sentence Vincent started grinning because he knew I’d gotten an idea.

 

“So, my fair lady, is this painting to be your muse?” he asked in an embellished royal tone. He bowed as he talked and his dogtags slipped out from under his t-shirt.

 

My eyes were on those two little pieces of metal as I answered. “Yes, my shining knight, it is.” My voice was quiet and sad, as I thought the princess’ voice would have sounded. Vince didn’t say anything about it though, just smiled and our eyes mimicked our sadness.

 

He stood and then offered me a hand which I eagerly took. As he led me away from the painting I imagined that I knew exactly what the girl felt, loving a knight who may never come home.  

There's no telling how I'm going to make it through college.

What's worse, never making the attempt to do something new or taking a tiny step forward only to move back at the first sign of discomfort?

I have a tendency to do a little bit of both. There are only a few things in my life that I've ever truly 'dived right in' to and now I feel as if I'm in so deep I never want to leave.

I have to though.

There are 54 days until I walk the stage and graduate from highschool. Everything I've worked for will be over and I'm not sure if I'll be able to handle that. I think about my school years by what I did on the internet. Middle School was filled with bonding on Quizilla, learning about the world of online writing and making friends that would help me get through some tough times, though most of the friendships didn't make it through Quizilla's revamp (which I'm still bitter about, 4 years later). I started High School with my favorite online author's role-playing website when it was full of life. I'm ending high school with it just hanging on and my friends have gone. I'm the only original left and that feels terribly lonely.

I've recently attempted to branch off slightly and find another website that can give me that feeling of community I crave. I found one I think I might really like but now I'm stuck in a seemingly endless cycle of procrastination. Though its just some site on the world wide web I'm still scared of doing something wrong, something that would make the established members look down on me. I'm so used to being in control, to being the head honcho that I don't think I can just throw myself into this new world. So, I just don't post the character profile I spent an hour editing. I'm considering messaging the admin and apologizing for signing up, telling him that I don't think the site is for me. Of course, how would I know when I haven't even posted yet? I just... I can't bear the thought of putting myself out there only to be let own. I can't take the disappointment.

That's a part of life though and I know that. If I can't manage it on the internet what am I going to do when I'm five hours from home with no one to turn to?

I'm not a complete social outcast/introvert in school. I've joined clubs, done math team and am the President of my school's Key Club. I've done drama club and got a semi-important role this year. I've gone to camps and tried to make friend while there but for some reason I just don't click with anyone else. While everyone is off giggling and making friends to last the week I'm in my room, reading a book. I wish I would talk more but I'm a person who only says things when necessary. I'm content with silence, content with just listening. I haven't found very many people like that though. I always seem to find myself surrounding by outgoing people who are content with their bubbliness, but with no time for making an effort to talk to the quiet girl.


This post is an excellent example of things to come. Most prominently: Randomness. This post has jumped all around everything and I'm not entirely sure I've even accomplished what I wanted. It's an example of what happends when I do step out of my little bubble and talk. I jump around and talk about everything and anything.

So, yeah. I'm going to be a very lonely college girl. I recognize that it is my fault though, so that has to count for something.

So, I'm not really too terribly sure of what I'm suppossed to be posting here.

I created this account so that in a couple years I can look back and remember how unbelieveably awkward I was/am.

This journal will be filled with random musings, writing updates, thoughts on books and whatever else I feel up to posting. I'm lazy so there might not be much but that's okay. I'm sure I won't be letting anyone down.