Good Days, Bad Days, Pioneers of love
Well, it’s been a week, that’s for sure.
This week marked the first week in which freshman through seniors alike - and those on victory laps one through however many - flocked back to campus and revitalized the otherwise ghost town Brock University has been for the duration of the summer months. I’ll be the first to admit, that despite the annoyances that come along with no one knowing where they’re going, asking what will be very dumb questions within a week (i.e where’s the bookstore?) and dealing with the influx of traffic, both vehicular and foot, it’s been a welcomed change.
The newspaper I run, The Brock Press, is back in full swing and operating on the weekly schedule that I have grown accustomed to for the past four years. There really is something to be said for the romance of the familiar. Beyond the days in which I spent pounding the pavement, or grass in Jubilee Court during the vendor fair I suppose would paint a more accurate picture, I have grown exhausted and desperately embrace the weekend - albeit it’s only one day for me.
Moreover, for reasons that escape my meandering mind, the topics of love and relationships have crept, check that, exploded into the forefront of the majority of conversations I’ve had lately. From those that are new to those that have lasted several years, I have been inundated with stories and quips about the positives and the negatives of the, for me anyway, elusive relationship.
It’s funny how certain topics seem to be consuming at times, and as quick as they present themselves, they disappear into the stagnant and shadowy realms in which they came. I’ve become as confused as ever, which at this point in my short life, comes as a shock, as I never thought I would reach a state of uncertainty that has never been encountered before. I guess life really is full of little surprises. And if that’s the case, then life, I have one short plea; present me with a good one please and thank you.
I had a great idea for a post earlier today, and it very well could have been derived from that minute corner of my imagination that gets triggered from lack of sleep and lack of coffee. It was likely absurd and not worthy of being put onto paper, as I have forgotten it already. I’m sure, though, that at the time it was epic.
That being said, I’m glad a sliver of my imagination is still churning and providing me with some type of journalistic thought, because there are times when I simply have nothing. It’s not for a lack of thoughts, but rather that wall that gets built somewhere between the thought and the actual putting pen to paper. I hate those days.
I have lost my train of thought now, although I’m not sure I ever really had one. I just felt like I had to put something down. There’s something I wrote last night, but I’m not sure I’m ready to share it with the world yet. Maybe I’ll change my mind, who knows. I’m frazzled at the moment and would like to do nothing more than climb into my bed and read something written by someone who actually can keep their thoughts straight for more than 10 minutes.
Peace.
