Procrastination and Another New Beginning

If it were completely up to me, school would assign no homework at all, and we would only have to do work in class. It's totally plausible, with after-school group study sessions to review materials covered in class, without the plethora of distractions home (and, quite often, my laptop that happens to have internet access) offers.

I would never, ever finish an assignment five minutes before it's due.

Argon would know. He's very concerned with my current ability to handle schoolwork right now. It's a little disconcerting, actually, how often he says I seem so stressed out.

I'm not. Really. I just mock-complain a lot, because my mind goes blank every now and then and I don't know what to say. Interesting, coming from a girl everyone thinks is really quiet.

Anyway, the point of this came from my current status of procrastinating instead of doing my English notecards, as I totally should do, had I been the good little girl I was back in... uh, seventh grade? I finished my homework ahead of time back then.

In fact, I still blame that guy in eighth grade, who always did homework in class and got caught (as opposed to me, who always did homework in class and never got caught) as my major corrupter. I did get a key chain as compensation though, but that's another story.

As I was saying. I had been procrastinating, when I roamed upon my Gmail tab (not accidentally) and spotted Tea. I immediately made myself "visible" and said hi.

"Hi," Tea said. "You know I blog, right?"

Oh, Tea blogs?

"I know now," I typed. Blogging reminded me of all those semi-attempts I had at blogging prior. And my half-hearted posts that collected dust.

Oh yeah. Pleasant memories of a self-proclaimed princess of procrastination.

"Well," Tea said. "Read this."

And she promptly sent over the link to her blog.

Which, I have to say, looks all amazing, partly because I myself have never accomplished such prolific projects of such massive scale. (It's also amazing otherwise, but I've always been uncreative with praise and such.) I scanned through the latest post--mentioning me as Ginny, which is evidently where I got my screen name from--and the quite... interesting turn of events. This, on some scale, is sad, because I had been there half the time, and I caught on to only two parts of the conversation, namely Irving's ad and Dino's bot-like voice. Oh well. I was always slow to react.

But this raises a very valid question.

Why am I not blogging?

Or, to phrase it in terms that strike my conscience the most:

Why am I not continuing to blog on those blogs I've started?

Posing that as my "Question of Subconsciousness" as I work on my remaining six notecards, I realize that it's because blogging had never been fun. It's always been something I wanted to do when I wanted to write about all the things that troubled me, but I channeled those into stories instead.

Oh, and this reminds me, I'm a little upset that I didn't get even an "honorable mention" in the Reflections contest (Boris did get second place for his poem, though, which I remembered him printing off on the day it was due, probably because we were both in the library that morning with last minute edits), but then I realized that winning wasn't the reason I wrote. I write because I want to visualize my emotions.

It's why most people don't get the things I mention in my writing. I use a lot of references (I like historical ones the best). I describe things with a novelty that is only completed because of the connotations of the words themselves. And I write with how it sounds in mind, because to me, the words are often more important than the plot.

But those were stories.

This is real life. And real life is supposed to be fun, because it's pointless if I go around being moody all the time.

(I had a discussion yesterday, as it chanced, with Stella, a friend of mine back in a world far, far away, about the meaning of life. Or lack thereof, I suppose. We ended up mulling over what existence meant, why we still lived and hung on to our lives, and the rather disturbing thoughts Stella had.)

Real life, and Ginny-world (Nephria, as it is called, for the Unenlightened), are two drastically different things. I've forgotten that writing could be just, purely, unequivocally about fun, and that's where I had gone wrong on my Quest O'Blog.

So, a fresh start?

In 2010.

Maybe.

But first, my five remaining notecards. English teachers may not be able to count, but NoodleBib unfortunately can.