I finished reading Harry Potter & the Half Blood Prince last week. I have no more new books. & yet, I have been doing so much reading today. My old books, my old notebooks. I would simply sit, bored in my high school classes, sit, & draw, & emote.

I used to work diligently on the aesthetics of each page: perfect placement of words framed by creepy or lovely drawings. I worked on this to avoid working on assignments. High school is easy. Well, as far as academics go. Now, there is no work to avoid. My hands are idle, while my brain buzzes like neon. I have had so much to think about lately [understatement of the decade]. Today, all that reading, & the fact that things have somewhat quelled for the moment, I am ready to write.

Not necessarily on Xanga. It's like sober conversations with strangers, when I'm not high on the moment. When I'm not nestled warmly in sub-culture nighttime, I don't know what to say.  I don't know what the normal person across from me, staring at me expectantly, finds relevant.

I guess I still have my sea legs.

An idea for a new story hit me today, so I should start that. Only, the thing is, I didn't really get an idea for a story, per se. What I got was an idea, moreso, for just a scene. I'll have to see where that goes. It should be somewhere near dark comedy. The thing about dark comedy, my favorite genre of fucking anything, is that, & this is what I always say: it's funny because it's true, & it's sad, because it's  true.

This is long. & this wasn't even the blog I've been formulating in my head all day. Originally, I wanted to share something that actually had to do with memorial day. But who really reads this anyway?

& now I'm fuckin pissed. The blog was very well written, & love is pretty neat, but still.  Love is love. We already have enough shittily written romantic comedies movies to make us wonder about our love. Movies putting ideas into our heads. Making us think that our love isn't spectacular unless we fall in love with our best friend, or with someone we actually really hate, until we discover [about three quarters the way through the movie] that actually, underneath it all, we love him or her. We're in love with the beautiful brunnette, but then all the sudden quirky Kate Hudson Jennifer Aniston or So and So comes along and we're just so wonderfully confused. Fake love makes my real love seem a little less, real.

Sometimes I think love should be comfy. It should be cool. It does not necessarily need to be ornately flowery, or bamboozlingly eloquent. My realization of love, it doesn't need to happen with me standing alone in the pouring rain in a widescreen shot while some pop song that sounds like an indie song plays in the background. It's more like, talking on the phone in my room, I look down, smile, bite my lip, shake my head, & I just think, "dammit." I fell in love. Against all odds.

I did not fall in love with my best friend. I did not fall in love with someone I initially thought I hated. I did not fall in love with someone while planning his wedding/cleaning his hotel room. I did not fall in love with someone while trying to pretend to be in love with him so as to make someone else jealous/prevent being deported back to Canada. I fell in love with a cocky, brown eyed boy with freckles, who was nice to me, & didn't do drugs. It's not romantic comedy love, or classic rock ballad love, & maybe it's not even blog love, but it's real love. & it's pretty neat.