My Mumbling Thoughts

They say that a new workspace helps creativity.

Eh, I guess.

I was getting so frustrated sitting in my room trying to write that I eventually got up, packed Bridget up and moved downstairs to the formal livingroom. I'm hoping to get a different energy down here on the couch rather than being propped up in my bed, surrounded by the same crap, looking at the same thing outside of my window, everything in the exact. same. place.

It was driving me insane.

I tried tidying my room, moving things around and attempting to make my room a little more "creative friendly" but it just wasn't happening. I found the strangest things and wondered why on earth did I decide to keep half of the crap that I own. Why do I have to be so damn sentimental and cling onto things that at that particular point in time might have meant the world to me, but now I can't remember as to why I've allowed it to take up space in my closet.

A sea bean. That was probably the weirdest thing I found in my old high school bookbag that was underneath my sombrero. Oh yes. I own a sombrero. Along with those two random items, I've got mountains of old magazines ranging from Cosmo, In Style, Vogue and Elle. Really, have your pick, because I have them all. I found old letters from my dad written to me from every single holiday and birthday since 1989, bank statements, calendars, pictures, CDs and last but not least, buttons. Random buttons that I kept just in case the button that was orginally on one of my jackets or shirts fell off and I needed to replace it. Of course I'd never be able to replace it because how would I remember that it was buried deep under my bed in the shoe box for my entire 7th grade year underneath all of the notes written between Shella and I about who she liked more - Nick no. 1 or Nick no. 2.

In the process of trying to be more feng shui, I came across some very old and dusty binders that held a lot of my writing from back when I was in high school. Man, did I write a lot of crap. It was so terribly bad I understand now why I kept it hidden underneath my bed behind all of the shoe boxes. I was your classic melodramatic, wannabe goth poet that wrote about things that I thought were deep and meaningful, when really other writers had already written about it, but in a much more creative and thought-provoking way. I was just whining about teenage life problems.

Which is cool, I suppose. It's all I knew at the time, therefore that's what I wrote about. I can only write about what I know.

I'm not sure if I was looking for anything in particular. While I was shuffling through it all, it almost seemed like I was waiting for something to pop out at me and lead me to start thinking about life way back in the day.

Nothing did, really. The only thing that I noticed was that my entire life has basically been documented in some sort of way by me since I was about thirteen years old. Maybe a little younger. I've always written about my days either in a journal, or while I was supposed to be writing notes in class, and now I blog about everything up here. It was kind of cool to be able to read over some stuff and be like, "oh yeah, I remember him. God, he was such a dick."

I stacked all of the papers, binders and notebooks up on top of each other and looked at it all. There it was. My entire life on paper. Strange. It was odd to see it all literally stacked in front of me. I certainly liked to chat a lot of shit in my spare time.

Over all of those years though, all of that time I spent alone writing, writing and writing, I didn't really know what I was doing. I only wrote all of the time because I felt I needed to. Nobody ever sat me down and said, "Sam, one of these days you're going to really be glad that you did all of this." No. I did it because I wanted to, because it felt wrong for me not to do it. That was my thing and it has always been my thing.

When these evenings do come around and I decide to randomly pull a page out of my life (no pun intended), I can go back and see everything perfectly. My words are my pictures, so to speak. I can easily go back to when I lived in North Carolina, when I was in high school, my entire world that encompassed me. It's good to see the changes that I've made over the years and be able to see and understand things more clearly now.

Nowadays with my more "adult problems" and my brain usually being occupied by London thoughts around the clock and the future, it's a welcoming reminder about when life was slightly more simple for me. I didn't worry anywhere near as much like I do now. What am I going to do after uni? Where am I going to work? How do I get a career? How do other people get careers? How do they even know if they're in a career? Where am I going to live? What do I want to do? How am I going to get there? Am I really going to support myself? Like, really support myself? On my own? Why is life so hard? Am I going to fail? Blah, blah, blah....

There was a time in my life when my biggest worry was if I did actually speak to Micah McSwaine for any length of time and he asked me any kind of question on any kind of topic, what was going to be my answer?

Those days were nice. And now I wonder how Micah is doing.