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A Million Little Pieces... without the Oprah drama

 

I was searching through my friend Maddie's Tumblr account today, admiring the many pictures that perfectly capture her quirky essence. So thank you Maddie for this one which I have lovingly re-posted here. 

     The last few days I have been feeling like this: like everything I have to do is their own piece of confetti. Sometimes I just simply can't care anymore, throw my hands up in the air (saying ah-oh?) and watch them all sparkle as they fall to my feet. The shitty part is when you realize that you do have to pick them all up, lest your mother screams that she will never give you confetti... glitter, anything entertaining... ever again! Ever notice that its almost impossible to do so? That no matter what there will be that one little scrap that eluded your careful eye? And you think to yourself, there goes my arts and craft privileges for life? And as you get older, those pieces of confetti aren't just sparkly bits, but the many duties we juggle everyday- relationships, jobs, school, anything under the sun. Just like the real stuff, you will always miss that one thing that in the grand scheme of the chaos appears insignificant. Eventually, you look down around your feet and see that sparkly bit peeking out from under your toe; suddenly that same heart-wrenching feeling that you forgot something, or worse yet someone. I am not a superhuman. I make choices everyday and sometimes I question them. I have to choose the red confetti or the blue one. Some days, I would just like to stay in Wonderland, peering into the depths of the rabbit hole, lavishing in the deadline-less utopia I have escaped to.

That Song in my Head

I'm not sure how others get inspired, but if I can get a beat, some lyrics and a rhythm, I almost instantaneously get a stream of ideas flowing in my head. Music speaks to me in a way that other mediums simply cannot. Heck, I wrote an grade 11 Great Gatsby essay to a Kanye West song. Yes, for two hours I listened to one song on constant repetition, and it was evident that by the end of my conclusion that I did not want to hear that song again for a long time. But it was the strength of the words and beat that kept my writing punctuated and the ideas flowing until they were actualized with ink. Now when that song comes onto my iPod, I cannot help but be mentally transported back to that classroom to the point where I can faintly feel the cramp in my hand from nonstop writing.

As I was driving back from visiting a friend out of town, I popped in the Hayley Sale's CD "When the Bird Became a Book". It was, needless to say, a refreshing change from the generic Top 40s tunes that frequent the radio and the mix CDs that my sister sneaks into my car. So as a mood-booster on this Wednesday, known affectionately as Hump Day, here are the lyrics to my favourite song: "When the Bird Became a Book".

I see smiles and tangled hair

And finger-painted window sills

Clouds the world they say is real

I've tried to see their way

But now I've found that up is down

Circles don't lead back around

Something lost is always found

It may not look the same 

But some things have to change

Say tomorrow is today that rainy is sunny

I'd rather be a fool than foolish

If the bird became a book I'd run and take a look

While people ran the other way

Afraid to play the fool

Open windows and sandy floors

Scattered tables and paper wars

May at first look like such a bore

But really who's to say 

What is really real

Say tomorrow is today that rainy is sunny

I'd rather be a fool than foolish

If the bird became a book I'd run and take a look

While people ran the other way

Afraid to play the fool

Afraid to play the fool 

Afraid to put their hands in the air and sat

"Damn it! I don't care"

Say tomorrow is today that rainy is sunny

I'd rather be a fool than foolish

If the bird became a book I'd run and take a look

While people ran the other way

Afraid to play the fool (x2)

Facebook Philosophy 101

After the week I've had, its been hard to not be pessimistic about the entirety of the human race. Maybe it's a combination of a dead-end job and hanging out with people that seem to occupy their time by stewing over things already passed, but somehow it becomes a vortex of negativity.  As I logged into Facebook this evening, expecting a slew of drunk photos and lyrical status updates to clog my homepage, I was met with a quote. Front and centre on my homepage was a single quote that seemed to sum up my entire week, and was the mantra with which I needed to face the, pardon my French, bullshit. I don't know who originally said it, though I would like to thank them so putting it so simply that it seems almost poetic. Thank you Nitharsen for this and for reminding me that I am too good to put up with this undue shrift, despite how narcissistic that may come across. So I impart this knowledge onto you all, to whomever may come across this, because I believe that somewhere along the way we all face this and while the advice seems simple, its the kind we seem to be unable to give ourselves.

"There's a point in life when you get tired of chasing everyone and trying to fix everything. But its not giving up- its realizing that you don't need certain people and their crap."

Finally someone agrees with me...

Courtesy of postsecret.com

I can be having the worst day and yet when a friend offers a bit of encouragement, it manages to pick me right back up. Words are powerful- written or spoken they have the ability to capture and convince the audience, whether it be a sole individual or the mass.

While I don't intend on running for president or being a world-renowned public speaker like Martin Luther King Jr was in his days, I feel as though my words could impact someone. Even touching one person- to think, to feel, to reconsider- would mean I've done something important. Because for me, it isn't about how eloquent my speech is, or that the presentation is executed perfectly, but that the person on the receiving end is moved to action as I was before them. 

I am a self-professed addict of the PostSecret blog. I log on every Sunday to indulge my curiousity. There is a certain element of voyeurism, despite the fact that these anonymous people willingly let us glimpse into one snippet of their lives. Following in their style, I want leave my mark in various nooks, that might hopefully brighten someone's day. Perhaps someday someone in this wide world will come across my mark, knowing or not that it's my doing, and that it will somehow impact them.