the inner workings of my mind

I'm still trying to figure it out. Last night I wrote a decently long blog but then didn't share it because I felt it was too intimate a look into my head. I wasn't really prepared to share that kind of vulnerability. So I just sent it to Matt. Its ok for him to see my vulnerable side. And in admitting I have a vulnerable side is sort of like sharing with everyone else. Not really, but sorta. ("Not really very...." haha)

So thinking on the inner workings of my mind... I wrote my thesis on Edgar Allen Poe. People ask me why, "Isn't he kind of morbid?" Well... duh.... thats kinda the point. There are 4 books I severely regret not sending to Korea. My Bible (which was ridiculously stupid of me to overlook), my Romantic and Victorian literature books (college class required texts but, yes, I still own, love, and read them), and my collected works of EAP. I want to delve in and take a topic out of it.... I think I need a book club, the only problem is I don't think most people want to read the things I would want to. haha

I want my thesis so I can read it. I feel like if I re-read it now it will seem like something someone else wrote. What I really need to do is read something and disect it. Lately I have read books that are entertaining but hardly great literature that you delve into and relish the depth of. I miss that, just a little bit. Not the pressure of having to write a paper, but knowing that I can hack out 5-10 pages and have my opinion be worth something. I proof-read a paper that Matt wrote (he got an A on it, and then he gave me credit for it! Crazy man I married. HE wrote it, I maybe changed a few words around). That felt good... critiquing something. "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" may not be prime literature, but at least I know my brain isn't going to mush.

I don't know how this blog got away from me, I was intending to talk about how me writing about Edgar Allen Poe is somehow very much a reflection of me as a person. Something like that. Some reflection of Me. I mean, I'm not horrifically morbid, but I am drawn to things or do things that most people probably wouldn't expect from me... Like fire, I love fire. We used to joke around and refer to me as a pyro because I used to have about 30 candles in my room. And I hate cats.

I've also decided that I like to cook. I like to whip and mix and stir. I like to bake. I like creating things. I think my desire to create is why I like to make soaps and lip balms and massage oils, too. I want to make beautiful things. I want to unleash my creative side... but I think its got a faulty mechanism. lol

Maybe just writing my thoughts as they come to me is a reflection of Me, though. Maybe thats the point. I think I was supposed to write more because I'm funny.... but I seem to be writing just to share right now... good enough I suppose. Maybe I will be funny later. :P