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I’m writing a portion of my novel right now which I call ‘the individual captaincy’ and where the main group of characters, due to a lack of people with experience commanding ground forces, have to split up and take control of separate armies. It’s a departure from the usual theme of teamwork, and quite compelling. As soon as I began thinking about this, too, several songs I’d been listening to pretty constantly fell into the motif. Two songs, for example, are both very Siari as a solo commander: Figure 8 by Ellie Goulding and the slightly more predictable Titanium, by David Guetta (and sung by Sia…)
Lots of fun this weekend: three 21st birthdays, including my own; visiting friends; Honk!; Also a lot of new to get used to: new phone; inside-ear headphones; the lack of frivolity on the horizon. (Curious that it fades right after I turn 21, though.) I am doing something frivolous now though: I am going all the way to Kendall Square to visit an interesting sounding coffee shop which my new friend Mia recommended last night. I have a lot of reading to do, though, and the shop sounded like a nice place to do this.
I can never write when I’m stressed, even the continuous low-level stress of school. I realize this last night when I choose to write during the 15 minute break I’ve granted myself between assignments and come up with two lines, even though I have a narrative of this part in my head that’s been growing for days.
Used coffee grounds look depressingly like chocolate lava cake, and smell about as good.
I think I should save reading Infinite Jest for a long vacation.
I used to have all the full moons set in my phone, but I don’t keep track anymore. Kinda miss knowing tbh.
I do however love the nights where all the houselights are off and I go into the kitchen late to get a glass of water and I can just tell it’s a full moon because of how the night world is lit up and glowing from moonlight and no cloud cover.
My favorite paragraph from the meditation I wrote senior year:
There was a night over the summer, one of many, when I couldn’t fall asleep. It was 2:30 AM, and I’d exhausted all the activities that I usually partake in this situation. None of my insomniac friends were online anymore. I had no ideas for writing a story or poem, and there was nothing interesting on Adult Swim. I was walking back upstairs after fixing a nightcap. My mother swears by hot milk as a sleep aid, and I like to add a little honey for taste. As I walked toward the stairs, I noticed that it was unusually bright in the foyer, and that the light was coming from outside. Glancing outside, I saw no car back from a late-night party or any luminous streetlights. But I did see the moon. It was much larger than usual and illuminating everything with a soft grey light, the color of my favorite T-shirt. I could see well across the road into the trees, and even the houses further up the road. All that was missing was a werewolf prowling around the yard. In 18 years, it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen; this tableau of nature bathed in an attenuated and elegant night. My tiredness was forgotten. I wanted to go out and play, to dance in the moonlight and take pictures and experience this thing I’d never seen before that was somehow intoxicating. Werewolves be damned.