Dear Weekend Warriors,
This, is the Weekend of all Weekends.
That's right, we are allotted three days to stuff our families into mini vans and haul ourselves to various tourist attractions, to see distant-cheek-pinching-relatives or to improve our character by taking on some sort of outdoor adventure (RVing comes to mind). We may find ourselves taking in the last rays of sun before work or school begins, relaxing on a beach (if we're lucky) and returning to the grind on Tuesday with a proud sunburn. Why proud? Because we savoured that last bit of lingering summer even if it made us a humiliating shade of Lobster Red! For those who can't get away from the house, maybe we've decided to finally fix that squeaky door, or start on a new home improvement project. After all, nothing screams accomplishment more than a mahogany candle holder! For the less ambitious however, a three day weekend means twelve hours of well deserved sleep every night. If you happen to fall into this category and are a teenager, this number may become fourteen hours of sleep, four hours of eating, and six hours of online entertainment.
BUT WHY STICK TO THOSE STEREOTYPES?
Yes, jam packing your weekend with family obligations may be necessary, you really might need to fix the door, and escaping into the wild may be a well needed break. However, a long weekend is also an opportunity to be creative and break the cycle of most weekend warriors. Just because we have an extra day, does not mean that it needs to be booked up with engagements. Too often we see an empty space, be it physical or abstract, and feel an uncontrollable urge to fill it. There's a plain wall in the living room? We buy a painting to make it look less plain. We find out our work meeting is cancelled? Time to get home and start cleaning! At dinner there's extra garlic bread? Fill 'er up, Mom!
We are always wanting fullness, because in modern day language we associate it with "happiness". Especially on long weekends or festive occasions, it seems as though we should be incredibly happy the entire time, as well as feel accomplished by the end of the whole affair. This is not necessarily wrong, but with almost irresponsibly high expectations, we are setting ourselves up to be disappointed. Not only are we preparing ourselves to feel "less than up to par" with the rest of society, we are also setting the stage for stressful encounters and unattainable deadlines. There are only twenty four hours in a day, and those extra hours are not going to allow us to accomplish inhuman amounts of housework or homework. We are in fact living beings who get tired and irritable, and sometimes just really need to take a step back.
In the end, how much extra stress is finishing the deck in three days worth? In a month, will it matter that we were able to get sixteen loads of laundry (including all the bedding and couch covers) done on that one extra day?
Depending on your personality, the answer is usually no. Long weekends are not slots of time for absolutely anything (and everything) that needs to get done from now until Christmas. There are certain chores or errands that do require some extra time, and perhaps Friday night untill Monday is really quite practical to accomplish those types of things. Once again though, we are human, we need sleep, and a lot of the time we tend to overbook ourselves by filling our lives up with unnecessary "Stuff".
Hence, the value of simply being content with life becomes all the more important.
Yesterday the only productive thing I did was make cookies and soup with my best friend. But you know what? We had awesome conversations, laughed a lot, and went about the day feeling quite "alright". That's when you find the most about yourself, and the people you love : when you're taking time to sit and see them for who they are, to reflect upon who you are as a person. Maybe that's true human accomplishment, knowing the limits and boundaries of who we are as creatures, rather than pumping our lives full of fancy pieces of paper and nice looking houses.
Whatever you do this weekend, I wish you time with your family and friends, especially with yourself.
Happy Labour Day Weekend,
Arctic Hipster
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
From Darkling to Star Gazer
Dear Soul Searchers,
If you're trying to pick a fight, you've chosen the right day. Right now this teenage soul is filled with mess and lore, so much so that I'm afraid the disorder might consume any sane feeling left in me. Everyone has their own way to deal with grief; the problem is, I haven't really found mine.
I've been very fortunate to never have attended a funeral, or seen someone I love grow cold. Maybe I'm spoiled then, to have had the opportunity to know and love my family, without the social interruption of death. If so, so be it. Let it be the fault of my own ignorance, perhaps better classified as innocence, that I can't seem to wrap my head around the idea that my Grandfather has passed away. Really, at this point in my maturity, I should be able to distinguish past from present. It gets more complicated when his present, becomes our family's past I suppose. It's still not an excuse to behave so childlike though. I can't even bring myself to attend the funeral, because I refuse to accept this reality. It's a selfish need to keep things constant, to refuse negative change that's motivating my decision to stay home. That, and a fierce cold.
More than anything though, I wish I had the courage to support my family in their grief, in their pain. Once again however, my own selfishness is preventing me from achieving that. It's incredibly upsetting to see such a profound hurt on the faces of those you love most, and it makes the situation become all the more real. Being surrounded by grieving family, by sadness, for some can be comforting. Maybe that's what families are suppose to do, cry together. I can't seem to allow myself to do that though, because I refuse to accept this pain. I'm trying to learn to grieve with a smile, a token of gratitude for the luck that my Grandfather had in living his life surrounded by love, marked by accomplishments and it's length. I smile at the fact that he is no longer in pain, and that he need not struggle any longer. I smile at the memories we have together, that will continue to make me smile for years to come. And I know that it's strange, but I feel as though I can't accept his death, so much as celebrate his life.
My Dad used to say that after his mom died when he was a child, he used to try and find her in the stars. Turns out that the light we see may be from stars that have fallen decades, even centuries ago. So in a way, the stars are like people: even after they are gone, they still have the ability to light up your sky for awhile. I know that although I struggle in this darkness now, in this uncertainty, my grandfather's memory will always provide the light I need to get through the night.
As the stars align,
Arctic Hipster
If you're trying to pick a fight, you've chosen the right day. Right now this teenage soul is filled with mess and lore, so much so that I'm afraid the disorder might consume any sane feeling left in me. Everyone has their own way to deal with grief; the problem is, I haven't really found mine.
I've been very fortunate to never have attended a funeral, or seen someone I love grow cold. Maybe I'm spoiled then, to have had the opportunity to know and love my family, without the social interruption of death. If so, so be it. Let it be the fault of my own ignorance, perhaps better classified as innocence, that I can't seem to wrap my head around the idea that my Grandfather has passed away. Really, at this point in my maturity, I should be able to distinguish past from present. It gets more complicated when his present, becomes our family's past I suppose. It's still not an excuse to behave so childlike though. I can't even bring myself to attend the funeral, because I refuse to accept this reality. It's a selfish need to keep things constant, to refuse negative change that's motivating my decision to stay home. That, and a fierce cold.
More than anything though, I wish I had the courage to support my family in their grief, in their pain. Once again however, my own selfishness is preventing me from achieving that. It's incredibly upsetting to see such a profound hurt on the faces of those you love most, and it makes the situation become all the more real. Being surrounded by grieving family, by sadness, for some can be comforting. Maybe that's what families are suppose to do, cry together. I can't seem to allow myself to do that though, because I refuse to accept this pain. I'm trying to learn to grieve with a smile, a token of gratitude for the luck that my Grandfather had in living his life surrounded by love, marked by accomplishments and it's length. I smile at the fact that he is no longer in pain, and that he need not struggle any longer. I smile at the memories we have together, that will continue to make me smile for years to come. And I know that it's strange, but I feel as though I can't accept his death, so much as celebrate his life.
My Dad used to say that after his mom died when he was a child, he used to try and find her in the stars. Turns out that the light we see may be from stars that have fallen decades, even centuries ago. So in a way, the stars are like people: even after they are gone, they still have the ability to light up your sky for awhile. I know that although I struggle in this darkness now, in this uncertainty, my grandfather's memory will always provide the light I need to get through the night.
As the stars align,
Arctic Hipster
Monday, August 15, 2011
When "Going With The Flow" is Sign of Insanity
Dear Worst-Case-Scenario Minded Readers,
Have you ever felt that although everything seems to be going completely wrong, you can help but think it’s hilarious?
Perhaps it’s because a morbid sense of humor has been bred into me, and a lack of sleep has made me slightly mentally unstable, but I could not help but burst into random bouts of laughter today. I basically spent my weekend waitressing and entertaining friends until late at night, so I didn’t have very precise motor or social skills this morning. I arrived at work early, to a dark office complex and a locked door. On top of that, my mood was just as grey as the rain clouds hanging overhead. I did have my keys, that’s not the punch line of the series of unfortunate events that were my morning. Oh no, it was a much more subtle fumble that caused a serious case of the giggles. I had the ability to open the door...just not the mental capacity. That’s right, I was outwitted by an inanimate object. I stood outside in the pouring rain as my frozen fingers and dulled memory attempted to work together to undo the lock. I couldn’t recall which key opened the outside door, and the overcast sky made all three keys look slightly bronze (or was it gold?). I already have door issues (I can’t get into my house on a good day, I can’t get out of the bathroom on a bad day), so it took a good twenty minutes to get into the building.
I shook myself off and readjusted my bag and tried to regain a better sense of things. It was then that I realized my boss was not in our office, and the sliding glass door separating our offices from the other company in the complex was inevitably locked.
And I began to giggle. Despite my sopping wet hair, disregarding the chill that had set beneath my skin, I gave into the haplessness of the situation and laughed. My heart was light, and the rain had given me a strange feeling of being irrevocably aware of my youth. The rain dripped from my soaking hair and fell across my forehead, and still, I was chuckling to myself. D came in just as I had fiddled with the lock long enough to convince it to relinquish it’s grasp of the key and door. She smiled her big “Good Morning Smile” as her eyes read “Monday-Blues”. For some reason, she began to laugh too, and so the day started.
As I went about the business of logging onto our system, organizing my workspace, I must have bumped into a dozen different things. I knocked over a stapler, scattered some documents, tripped over my own computer chair all while trying to stifle giggles. Nothing compared to the photocopier incident though. As I went to finish scanning a project I had started on Friday, I managed to dead-leg myself on the side of the office beast. I doubled over in pain and remained crumpled on the floor, crippled by the pain but mostly from the unsupportable belly busting laughter that had consumed me. I had been able to control the hysterics for most of the morning, but it was as though this accident had released an inner laughing lunatic. I shook and shook as if in epileptic shock. There was no way to fight to remain sane, once again I submitted and was taken by a serious case of the giggles.
Now, you most certainly believe me to be crazy, but you must understand that the point of this account is to simply enlighten the load that Monday may bring. There is a choice bloggsters, that we must all make. To try to fight fate and become frustrated by things we cannot control, or to accept the situation and make the best of it as only we can.
May your Monday be filled with laughter,
Arctic Hipster
Have you ever felt that although everything seems to be going completely wrong, you can help but think it’s hilarious?
Perhaps it’s because a morbid sense of humor has been bred into me, and a lack of sleep has made me slightly mentally unstable, but I could not help but burst into random bouts of laughter today. I basically spent my weekend waitressing and entertaining friends until late at night, so I didn’t have very precise motor or social skills this morning. I arrived at work early, to a dark office complex and a locked door. On top of that, my mood was just as grey as the rain clouds hanging overhead. I did have my keys, that’s not the punch line of the series of unfortunate events that were my morning. Oh no, it was a much more subtle fumble that caused a serious case of the giggles. I had the ability to open the door...just not the mental capacity. That’s right, I was outwitted by an inanimate object. I stood outside in the pouring rain as my frozen fingers and dulled memory attempted to work together to undo the lock. I couldn’t recall which key opened the outside door, and the overcast sky made all three keys look slightly bronze (or was it gold?). I already have door issues (I can’t get into my house on a good day, I can’t get out of the bathroom on a bad day), so it took a good twenty minutes to get into the building.
I shook myself off and readjusted my bag and tried to regain a better sense of things. It was then that I realized my boss was not in our office, and the sliding glass door separating our offices from the other company in the complex was inevitably locked.
And I began to giggle. Despite my sopping wet hair, disregarding the chill that had set beneath my skin, I gave into the haplessness of the situation and laughed. My heart was light, and the rain had given me a strange feeling of being irrevocably aware of my youth. The rain dripped from my soaking hair and fell across my forehead, and still, I was chuckling to myself. D came in just as I had fiddled with the lock long enough to convince it to relinquish it’s grasp of the key and door. She smiled her big “Good Morning Smile” as her eyes read “Monday-Blues”. For some reason, she began to laugh too, and so the day started.
As I went about the business of logging onto our system, organizing my workspace, I must have bumped into a dozen different things. I knocked over a stapler, scattered some documents, tripped over my own computer chair all while trying to stifle giggles. Nothing compared to the photocopier incident though. As I went to finish scanning a project I had started on Friday, I managed to dead-leg myself on the side of the office beast. I doubled over in pain and remained crumpled on the floor, crippled by the pain but mostly from the unsupportable belly busting laughter that had consumed me. I had been able to control the hysterics for most of the morning, but it was as though this accident had released an inner laughing lunatic. I shook and shook as if in epileptic shock. There was no way to fight to remain sane, once again I submitted and was taken by a serious case of the giggles.
Now, you most certainly believe me to be crazy, but you must understand that the point of this account is to simply enlighten the load that Monday may bring. There is a choice bloggsters, that we must all make. To try to fight fate and become frustrated by things we cannot control, or to accept the situation and make the best of it as only we can.
May your Monday be filled with laughter,
Arctic Hipster
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Why Swivel Chairs are the Epitome of Happiness
Dear Blogmasters,
I've come to the conclusion that with an active imagination, an office can quickly become a source of great amusement. Keep in mind that many offices are occupied by employees who have been in a similar or even same position for years, and therefore enjoy a bit of spicing up the place ever so often. Doing repeated tasks and interacting with no one but a computer and strangers through phone, a person can go slightly insane : Which is precisely why I love my job.
Disregarding the fact that I have a wrap around desk, my own office and a great view, the component that makes our work place so unique is the people. There are only three of us, I'm a recent addition so you can imagine the proximity in which my coworkers have been for the last couple years. We're casual, professional, ridiculous, comical, hysterical and of course, surprisingly efficient. Most of our conversations take place from our own desks, and although it can be loud when we start playing music, it's nothing compared to the stopping from our neighbours upstairs. So there is hardly a moment when we are confronted with a dead silence that creates the ever-dulling-quiet-and-calculated atmosphere.
Both my coworkers are upbeat, but it doesn't take away from the fact that they are knowledgeable and professional. In the couple weeks I've been here I don't think I've ever learned so much, or laughed so hard. To be honest I've been the butt of many a joke, especially when it comes to poise or tact, however that doesn't impede my ability to rally with an "over-the-hill" comment or two. I read somewhere that in order to succeed in a work place, it's better to adapt the customs and mannerisms of your coworkers. In this case, it's a mix of dark humour and smart negotiations, which fits the bill for what I look for in a job.
And then, There's the swivel Chair.
Oh it's every child's dream to sit on a spinning chair for hour upon hours. Considering I'm still technically a child, it satisfies an array of childhood dreams.... all while I'm getting paid.
It's a wonderful thing to be educated,
Arctic Hipster
I've come to the conclusion that with an active imagination, an office can quickly become a source of great amusement. Keep in mind that many offices are occupied by employees who have been in a similar or even same position for years, and therefore enjoy a bit of spicing up the place ever so often. Doing repeated tasks and interacting with no one but a computer and strangers through phone, a person can go slightly insane : Which is precisely why I love my job.
Disregarding the fact that I have a wrap around desk, my own office and a great view, the component that makes our work place so unique is the people. There are only three of us, I'm a recent addition so you can imagine the proximity in which my coworkers have been for the last couple years. We're casual, professional, ridiculous, comical, hysterical and of course, surprisingly efficient. Most of our conversations take place from our own desks, and although it can be loud when we start playing music, it's nothing compared to the stopping from our neighbours upstairs. So there is hardly a moment when we are confronted with a dead silence that creates the ever-dulling-quiet-and-calculated atmosphere.
Both my coworkers are upbeat, but it doesn't take away from the fact that they are knowledgeable and professional. In the couple weeks I've been here I don't think I've ever learned so much, or laughed so hard. To be honest I've been the butt of many a joke, especially when it comes to poise or tact, however that doesn't impede my ability to rally with an "over-the-hill" comment or two. I read somewhere that in order to succeed in a work place, it's better to adapt the customs and mannerisms of your coworkers. In this case, it's a mix of dark humour and smart negotiations, which fits the bill for what I look for in a job.
And then, There's the swivel Chair.
Oh it's every child's dream to sit on a spinning chair for hour upon hours. Considering I'm still technically a child, it satisfies an array of childhood dreams.... all while I'm getting paid.
It's a wonderful thing to be educated,
Arctic Hipster
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
My "AH HA!" Moment of the Day
Dear Blog Addicts,
Assuming you attach a great importance to words considering you're taking time out of your day to read this, you probably feel the need to understand song lyrics. There's something infinitely satisfying about being able to explain the underlying meaning in an alternative rock song, or to catch the imagery in a love ballad. It's as though you're taking part of the songwriter's struggle, and with the appropriate music to add mood, a song can be a compressed novel... as long as it's well written.
Thus bringing me to my next point: who ever decided that quality music should incorporate auto-tune, the term "G6" or large besomed girls in the music video, should definitely get a different day job. I'm sorry, that is not an artist's work. That, is the result of a large bank account and a growing population who will stand for such laziness. Honestly, how is it possible that we are listening to this garbage on the radio when we have infinite access to thousands upon thousands of good artists? "I so sorry shorty" is not only terrible grammar, but is also a terrible way to apologize to a person you care about!
I don't mind rap, in fact I quite like the feeling when running off lyrics and blasting bass while driving. However, it's this new idea of acceptable pop that's so irritating. Music is a way to convey ideas to an audience, to share an opinion, to create an impression. An artist has the opportunity to shape the minds of a nation by using their creativity and intelligence. Who in the world thought that such a possibility for change should be left up to green pocketed selfish economists?! Just because it's catchy, doesn't make it good. Especially when you're eight year old cousin is singing a Ke$ha song about blow jobs: now that's underlying meaning.
Now I'm not saying that our society isn't listening to good music, one listen to Adele and you'll be convinced that we've bred a generation of geniuses. I am saying though, that the fact that itunes and record companies are getting more money than the artists who labour over albums is alarming. On top of that, they are teaching them that creativity should be limited to what sells, and what is popular.
So I say that we rebel against this, and look for local talent. Up here in the North we have songbirds like Leila Guilday, Rap Stars like Godson and even Youth Up-and-Coming stars like Jessie Trembley. So why sit there and listen to a computer generated formula when you can hear an artist actually sing their heart out?
If you wanna sing low, sing low.
Arctic Hipster
Assuming you attach a great importance to words considering you're taking time out of your day to read this, you probably feel the need to understand song lyrics. There's something infinitely satisfying about being able to explain the underlying meaning in an alternative rock song, or to catch the imagery in a love ballad. It's as though you're taking part of the songwriter's struggle, and with the appropriate music to add mood, a song can be a compressed novel... as long as it's well written.
Thus bringing me to my next point: who ever decided that quality music should incorporate auto-tune, the term "G6" or large besomed girls in the music video, should definitely get a different day job. I'm sorry, that is not an artist's work. That, is the result of a large bank account and a growing population who will stand for such laziness. Honestly, how is it possible that we are listening to this garbage on the radio when we have infinite access to thousands upon thousands of good artists? "I so sorry shorty" is not only terrible grammar, but is also a terrible way to apologize to a person you care about!
I don't mind rap, in fact I quite like the feeling when running off lyrics and blasting bass while driving. However, it's this new idea of acceptable pop that's so irritating. Music is a way to convey ideas to an audience, to share an opinion, to create an impression. An artist has the opportunity to shape the minds of a nation by using their creativity and intelligence. Who in the world thought that such a possibility for change should be left up to green pocketed selfish economists?! Just because it's catchy, doesn't make it good. Especially when you're eight year old cousin is singing a Ke$ha song about blow jobs: now that's underlying meaning.
Now I'm not saying that our society isn't listening to good music, one listen to Adele and you'll be convinced that we've bred a generation of geniuses. I am saying though, that the fact that itunes and record companies are getting more money than the artists who labour over albums is alarming. On top of that, they are teaching them that creativity should be limited to what sells, and what is popular.
So I say that we rebel against this, and look for local talent. Up here in the North we have songbirds like Leila Guilday, Rap Stars like Godson and even Youth Up-and-Coming stars like Jessie Trembley. So why sit there and listen to a computer generated formula when you can hear an artist actually sing their heart out?
If you wanna sing low, sing low.
Arctic Hipster
Monday, August 8, 2011
A Midnight's Dream
Dear Summer Enthusiasts,
My favorite part of living North of sixty has to be the midnight sun.
Yesterday my friends and I launched a nineteen sixty style boat, flew five feet after being flung off a three person tube and had a dinner party out on the deck : all underneath a blue sky. I got home around eleven and was greeted by a pink and salmon sky outside my bedroom window, but no sign of the sun setting anytime soon. The sun hung in the air, as though every summer student's wish for the weekend to last forever convinced him to extend the day by a couple more minutes. The reality is that we're slowly losing sunlight again, by approximately six minutes every day. So not only is school glaring at us on calender, the shortening days are a reminder that our freedom is slowly slipping away. The Nerd Herd (Note: this is a self-made title) is getting close to another freedom though, the ever anticipated graduation! With that in mind however, we might end up being even more desperate to hold onto the weekends that we can escape from parentals and bosses long enough to go camping and enjoy the magic of the midnight sun, before it's snatched by academic commitments.
There's just something about waking up to a room filled with light that makes a person hopeful.
Stay Bright!
Arctic Hipster
My favorite part of living North of sixty has to be the midnight sun.
Yesterday my friends and I launched a nineteen sixty style boat, flew five feet after being flung off a three person tube and had a dinner party out on the deck : all underneath a blue sky. I got home around eleven and was greeted by a pink and salmon sky outside my bedroom window, but no sign of the sun setting anytime soon. The sun hung in the air, as though every summer student's wish for the weekend to last forever convinced him to extend the day by a couple more minutes. The reality is that we're slowly losing sunlight again, by approximately six minutes every day. So not only is school glaring at us on calender, the shortening days are a reminder that our freedom is slowly slipping away. The Nerd Herd (Note: this is a self-made title) is getting close to another freedom though, the ever anticipated graduation! With that in mind however, we might end up being even more desperate to hold onto the weekends that we can escape from parentals and bosses long enough to go camping and enjoy the magic of the midnight sun, before it's snatched by academic commitments.
There's just something about waking up to a room filled with light that makes a person hopeful.
Stay Bright!
Arctic Hipster
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Why, your face is so familiar but I've forgotten your name!
Dear Blog,
I'm afraid I've been seeing other networking devices.
I know this is hard to take in, but you had to have expected it. All this modern technology, these new time-waster apps, the ever handy Twitter and of course, the sick and twisted suductress known as Facebook, they've been keeping me away from you. So, I'm here to explain myself, and offer amendments for the neglect you've felt this past while.
This year has been difficult for the both of us. School is number one priority (you've always claimed to understand that), and I must be honest, Math 30 is the course from Hell. I almost lost all hope of ever succeeding in mathmatics last year, then they decided to throw in a diploma exam this year. A small room packed with nervous teenagers desperatly writing down all that they can remember from the class they couldn't concentrate in: definitely not my idea of a good way to boost averages. On top of that, the ridiculous test was worth fifty percent of my final mark. So as you can see, my brain has been under constant academic fire. Therefore, I've been resorting to mindless entertainment to soothe the blows. For this, I apologize. No game of "Angry Birds" will ever replace the emotional and creative support you've given me.
Then again, how was I to know that you would change after I had left you?
All of these new gadgets, I can hardly keep up with you! I mean, now I can see you when I'm on-the-go, take you and spend time with you when I'm supposedly studying, it's all very overwhelming. But I have faith that we can move past these roadblocks and reestablish our solid relationship of creative outlet and aspiring writer. I promise you that I will make time for you at least once a week. Blog, you are becoming increasingly important now that university application due dates are looming closer. I trust that you are up for the challenge of becoming a portfolio, as I am for becoming a student.
Yours truly,
Arctic Hipster
I'm afraid I've been seeing other networking devices.
I know this is hard to take in, but you had to have expected it. All this modern technology, these new time-waster apps, the ever handy Twitter and of course, the sick and twisted suductress known as Facebook, they've been keeping me away from you. So, I'm here to explain myself, and offer amendments for the neglect you've felt this past while.
This year has been difficult for the both of us. School is number one priority (you've always claimed to understand that), and I must be honest, Math 30 is the course from Hell. I almost lost all hope of ever succeeding in mathmatics last year, then they decided to throw in a diploma exam this year. A small room packed with nervous teenagers desperatly writing down all that they can remember from the class they couldn't concentrate in: definitely not my idea of a good way to boost averages. On top of that, the ridiculous test was worth fifty percent of my final mark. So as you can see, my brain has been under constant academic fire. Therefore, I've been resorting to mindless entertainment to soothe the blows. For this, I apologize. No game of "Angry Birds" will ever replace the emotional and creative support you've given me.
Then again, how was I to know that you would change after I had left you?
All of these new gadgets, I can hardly keep up with you! I mean, now I can see you when I'm on-the-go, take you and spend time with you when I'm supposedly studying, it's all very overwhelming. But I have faith that we can move past these roadblocks and reestablish our solid relationship of creative outlet and aspiring writer. I promise you that I will make time for you at least once a week. Blog, you are becoming increasingly important now that university application due dates are looming closer. I trust that you are up for the challenge of becoming a portfolio, as I am for becoming a student.
Yours truly,
Arctic Hipster
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)