Reading

I am a big fan of the books. If you know me at all you know I love to read. This infatuation with the written word started early; my parents made time to read to me every night when I was a child. I soaked up every word like an eager sponge, ready to consume and be consumed by what was, at the time, great literature (read: Berenstain Bears and Angelina Ballerina. The true classics). As I grew older and able to read on my own, I started carrying books with me everywhere. I wanted to read all the time. On the way to the grocery store five minutes away my house, at sporting events, on the way to school, in the backyard; the phrase "book-free zone" meant nothing to me. I read every book I had multiple times. Going to Barnes and Noble was a special occasion, allowing me the chance to meet new characters, become immersed in new lives and places and times. The summer I got my first library card was joyous. I would check out huge stacks of books and scoff at the librarians' earnest admonishments to please return my new friends within three weeks. Three weeks? I would think. Try three days. I'll be back for more soon! 

Sadly, I have much less time for reading now than I did when I was younger. Schoolwork takes up the majority of my year, and those carefree summer days spent sprawled out on a blanket in the shade have become replaced with a schedule of places I have to be and things I have to do, all of which take me far away from my beloved pastime. However, I would go crazy if I wasn't in the middle of at least one book at all times. I have stacks of books by my bed and on my bookshelf (plus about 40 titles on my Amazon.com wishlist...) that are all begging to be read. Thus, this summer I'm making a concerted effort to read more, to go back to finding my former joy in pages covered with stories, with characters both foreign and familiar to me. I've managed to finish two books thus far: Little Women and The Things they Carried. Both deserve their own posts and will likely get them in the near future. Be aware that short blurbs on what I'm reading will pop up here from time to time. Immersing myself in words is something in which I never fail to find pleasure, something that has become an essential part of my identity and that likely subconsciously affects my decision-making and the way in which I look at and approach life.

I am a book-lover, and will be for life. And I'm extremely proud of that.

Reading old journals

Reading old journals is one of my favorite things to do. I've been journaling fairly regularly since I was pretty young. I used to read those Dear America books. They were diaries by fictional people who either witnessed or were apart of important historical events or times, and they took up a good chunk of my bookshelf. Because of these books, I journaled prolifically for a time. Also because of these books, I was pretty convinced that one of those journals was going to get published one day, thus I titled them and addressed them to a great audience. Needless to say, they're pretty hilarious. From detailed accounts of how "madly in love" I was with a boy from my class to ramblings that demonstrate to current me that former me was pretty convinced she was going to marry Jake Gyllenhaal, these journals depict me at my finest. Or my worst, depending on how you look at it. There's a lot of teen angst going on in some of the later journals. Eesh. Regardless of how embarrassing these journals are, they are important for me to re-read every so often. They remind me who I was and how far I've come. They show me how much I've grown up, something I may not realize through my day-to-day interactions and thoughts, but that is blatantly obvious when muddling through barely-legible handwritten entries about how freaked out I was about starting college.
My sister insists she's glad she never kept journals because re-reading them would be painfully awkward and embarrassing. I, however, am glad I kept such a detailed record of my life. My past triumphs, failures, worries, and bliss are all at my fingertips. I like that I can refer to events of my past and use these journals as markers of my life, letting me see who I was, who I am, and how far I've come. Good work, past Hallie. Despite your pessimistic predictions, you certainly managed to do something right.

Three of the most recent offenders. Yes, the middle one has the Cat in the Hat on it. Classy. 

There are some things I already know how to love

Among them is good conversations with great friends. Anyone will tell you I'm not a great conversationalist. Especially with people I first meet. If I don't know you, I tend to be shy and awkward around you. That's just how I am. It isn't me being conceited or thinking I'm cooler than you. In fact, it's generally me thinking you're cooler than me, thus intimidating me to no end. That said, my friends are the people I feel comfortable talking to. They're people who know and understand that I say stupid things and am not always as witty as I think I am or hope to be.
I just had a lovely night catching up with a friend I hadn't had a legitimate conversation with in about nine months. She and I talked for hours, and discovered that we had even more in common than we previously thought. She would say something I've thought to myself before. Then I would surprise myself by sharing something I've never told anyone but my journal. Talking to her made me understand some things about myself, and made me feel much more content than I've been in awhile. We went on chatting as if no time had passed, and somehow I understood that we'd be friends for a long time.
That feeling is something I definitely already know how to love. It's something I cherish with the friends I already have and relish discovering with new people. I love knowing that there are other people in the world who think the way I do, who hold similar values dear, who can count on me the way I count on them for love, support, and a helping hand when necessary.
One more thing I love about my friends: they accept that I write cheesy things like this. They're pretty much the best, aren't they?

I'm being quite the prolific blogger this week

...chalk that up to several things, among them: this blog feels sadly sparse, I find myself with very little to do after 10PM, and I have a lot to say, apparently. You're Welcome.

I feel like I should maybe explain my blog title. Because it's become clear to me after some exploration that it's quite cliche. I realized the potential of this before, but decided it would be okay. I just decided, however,that it is not. Not without some explanation, anyway.

I decided I wanted to create a blog. That part was easy. The hard part was coming up with something clever to call it. Something that reflects me; something tasteful and classy and hopefully clever. That's harder than it sounds. I decided to scour my "quotes" Word document for something appropriate. Yes, I have a Word document full of quotes I like. I am one of those people...don't judge me. Inspirational doesn't always have to mean corny...

Anyway. I settled on the quote in my header up there: "Be patient towards all that is unsolved in your heart. And learn to love the questions themselves." -Rainer Maria Rilke. I decided when I read this one that it was most appropriate and applicable. There is quite a lot that is unsolved in my heart, and I'm trying my best to be patient with it all. I'm not always successful, but I'm working on it. I've also been on a quest to learn to love those heart-questions for a very long time. There are lots of things to love in this world, and I am definitely one to love wholeheartedly until the object of my love proves itself unworthy, which doesn't always work out to my advantage. So I guess I'm trying to figure out how to love properly, too. Where else to explore these kinds of thing but in a blog? After all, everyone's doing it these days. Why not me too? (Yep, I'm one of those people too. Sorry.) 

So here I am, learning to love. In all my cliched, corny glory. Hear me roar. 

The Sweater Rant

[Copied and pasted from my tumblr blog, a post from a few weeks ago. I figure I should explain my "about me" section. I'll start with the "sweater enthusiast" part. ]

I almost bought another sweater yesterday.

For anyone else, this would be a benign statement. However, for a raging sweater enthusiast such as myself, this is a huge problem. I have upwards of 20 sweaters. I haven’t counted lately; I’m sure I would be appalled if I did. 20 may not sound like a lot. But if you think about the fact that I could go almost three weeks without wearing the same sweater twice, you start to notice the crazy.

What’s worse is that I can’t stop buying them. It really is similar to a full-blown addition. I don’t even notice it, but when I walk into a store, I gravitate toward the knitted. Take yesterday’s sweater, for instance. It was a slate gray cardigan with embellishments. I have cardigans, I have gray sweaters, I have embellished sweaters. But I don’t have one with all three!!

It’s a huge problem for my wallet, for my quickly-diminishing amount of storage space, and for any hope of me ever changing my style. Luckily, I was dissuaded from buying yesterday’s sweater. But I can’t make any promises about a sweater that comes along next month, next week, or even tomorrow.

I am a Giants fan

I am a Giants fan. It’s a new thing, but it feels right to say. It started during the World Series last year. The combination of the excitement and Buster Posey in the squat got me hooked. I guess that means I’m technically one of those infamous band-wagoners, but I’m ok with that. Minus the constant harassment from those who’ve been Giants fans for forever. I apologize to all of you; sorry my fandom came at an inopportune time, but please stop shaming me. The guilt has already been quite enough.  

But really, I do consider myself a fan now. Not just of the Giants, but of baseball in general. I’ve watched Giants baseball almost every day I’ve been able to since the season started. I have the ESPN scores recap page bookmarked in my internet browser. Let me qualify these statements by saying I’ve never been much of a sports person, so this is all quite new to me. When I play any sport, it doesn’t really even matter which one, I inevitably get hit in the face. Literally. It’s like my nose has a special basketball magnet. When I watch sports, I never seem to be as into it as those around me. However, I’ve found myself quite invested in this baseball situation. I suppose you could say it started at the end of last year. I actually quite enjoyed going to watch my school’s games; not just because the players are cute (though that didn’t hurt…) but because I found myself enjoying figuring out the rules, strategizing in my head, being part of the crowd cheering wildly when anything interesting happens and groaning in exasperation when a play doesn’t work out.

Clearly, I’m still learning. I know next to nothing about the sport or any of the key players. But every so often, I find myself able to converse intelligently on the subject and a little surge of pride flares up in my chest. Unless that’s heartburn. Checking up on that. Anyway, the point of this mostly pointless post is that I’m beginning to identify as a baseball fan. And I’m starting with the Giants. And I’m not only okay with that, but I like it very much. Add it to the growing list of things in this world I’ve fallen in love with. 

So I have a blog now

I've had a tumblr for a few years now, but I think it's time to be a serious blogger. Only in 2011 could I say something like "serious blogger" and actually make sense.

I've been reading a lot of essays lately. Sloane Crosley is my favorite as of late  because she's hilarious and relevant and has a lovely way with words (fan girl moment: I emailed her on a whim and she emailed me back! within a week!). I kind of want to try my hand at writing regularly in a more public forum. I don't currently have much about my life that I feel is worth sharing with whoever wants to read it, but I'll work on it.

The end, for now.