Eight Reasons Why I Write

Suzie Speaks

imageI started this little blog about two-and-a-half years ago. I’ve never made a secret of the fact that I began with no expectations, initially using it as a therapeutic tool during quite a difficult time in my life. Since then, the act of writing seems to have taken on a far different role than I ever could have imagined. Of all the creative things that I have started in my thirty-three years, writing is one of the only things that I enjoy and I strive to improve in – I never get bored. Indeed, it hasn’t just improved my life, it’s changed it beyond all recognition.

My blog, like my life and mindset, does not have a particular niche. I like the freedom to be able to discuss lots of different ideas and thoughts and I’ve always avoided remaining on the same topic for too long. I don’t consider myself…

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Sleepless Night

Because I couldn’t find this in the reader after I published it.

Among the Whispers

What is this
I feel?
This wandering,
This un-stillness,
This scattering
Inside my being?

What is this
I hear?
This silence,
This empty
This chorus
By a hundred voices
Nothing at all?

What is this
I see?
This dispersal
Of images
Meant to be
My future?

What is this
Why does it
Not let me sleep?
What is this
What is this

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Sandals and Such

Today I wore a pair of wedge sandals that I haven’t worn in a long time. I checked the weather on my phone before I left the house and saw that the high would be 90 degrees Fahrenheit and immediately decided that I would not be wearing any kind of jeans. I gave a quick once over to my bottoms and decided that I wanted to wear my green shorts. I didn’t grab it at once because I knew I was working in the library after school and that they might be too short…but they also might not be. I put them on and checked to see that half of my thighs were covered. I was satisfied with that. I then wondered what top to pair with them. I looked at one I had bought in Florida this July and decided not to even bother with the idea because I had already tried it with the shorts last month and it didn’t look anywhere near as good as I thought it would. After another “idea” I settled on a sleeveless blouse that might be called tan and hurriedly took out my sandals. They were brown. They were wedges. I wasn’t sure they would match the outfit, but I decided not to care because I didn’t want them to dry rot as a consequence of not being worn. I thought that I should put a pair of flat sandals in my bag just in case, but I was short on time and had to leave quickly in order to catch the bus. Because of this I also neglected to bring with me any kind of sweater or cardigan. That and I just didn’t want to…although I knew that I would probably have to suffer through cold air conditioning at work. Whatever. I left the house.

I wasn’t comfortable. I wasn’t sure how I looked and I hadn’t worn anything with heels for a while. I thought that I probably looked weird, especially since I was walking quickly, and I had a big blue bag on my back, and a big blue lunch bag. I felt weird the whole day, like I was being watched and silently ridiculed for my choice of clothing. In my second class I thought I drew attention to myself because my heels made such loud noises on the floor. I still wasn’t sure about my outfit. And I was still worried about whether or not it would be okay once I got to work. I had been worrying about that on and off all day. Before I left the house I thought that the worse that could happen is that I’d get a warning and then not do it again. There was no way I could change anything because I wasn’t carrying any extra clothing with me. In class I hoped and hoped that the professor would let us leave early. That way I could stop downtown and quickly buy a long, open sweater.

Leaving school I was annoyed with myself for worrying so much about something like this, instead of maybe the fact that doctors still can’t find anything wrong with my father even though his body keeps doing things it’s not supposed to.

When I showed up to work no one said anything except one of the library assistants, but it didn’t bother as me as much because she wasn’t being malicious or anything. I had bought a sweater anyway; my professor had let us out really early. A friend of mine also complimented me. I had put the sweater on. I felt something near relief.

I asked myself why that made any difference, why I needed someone else to tell me I looked okay, why it hadn’t made such an impact when I had said to myself earlier that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought, that this really wasn’t that big a deal.

No answer was attempted. I guess the questions were rhetorical.

And this is what took up most of my thoughts for the day.