![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
What's happening
So OH was out of town last weekend, and I was sorting through a lot of papers. And I ended up spending something like 9 hours reading a lot of stuff I wrote in high school. I was obsessed with a rock band called Sweet back then. So first I read the diary entries I had saved about Sweet (I typed my diary on an old manual Underwood), and then the tawdry romantic fantasies about Sweet that my best friend and I plotted for hours on the phone.
I was blown away by the passion of all of it. Especially in contrast with the emotionally shut down, dry abstract writing I did in college. It was like going to college killed my writing talent or something. I was also blown away by the realism of the romantic-relationship development in the stories I wrote (I wrote them before I had ever had a real romantic relationship). One or two of them were almost completely plausible (although the sex bits were vague, since I hadn't had any).
I want that passion back. I want that talent back. I want that unselfconscious pouring-out-of-self back. And I am terrified of it.
When OH came back I had a hard time relating to him because I didn't think he would understand any of this stuff, and because I was feeling re-obsessed. I spent two days digging up every Sweet fan site on the web and although I haven't actually played any of the music yet, because I've only got it on LP, I remember it very clearly and I've got it jumbling around in my head constantly.
Sheesh. Some people live in a world of feelings. How do they? When I get this suffused by feelings, even pleasant ones, I feel like I am drowning.
no subject
no subject
no subject
I don't want to go publically into how I noticed you have a journal, that's a strange little tale unto itself. But I was mourning, the other day, to a friend, about a book I had in high school, that I had written. It was HUGE, and in it, I had written a big story about myself and the guys from Platinum Blonde, who were living in London (though they were a Canadian band, I wanted to live in London, we lived in London), having all sorts of adventures in the band we were in.
What was funny, to me, was that there were 4 girls who were all writing these books at lunch and exchanging them with each other to read. The other three were writing books about romance and the house they lived in with their favourite band member, when the other members of the band came by for tea, stuff like that. I wrote a book in which I lived in a loft with my bandmates while we were working on a record, and prepping for a tour. There was romance, of course, but still I was concentrating on scenes of us arguing over the mix with the producer. I put the book down in a 7-11 one evening, while picking up some magazines, and some guys stole it and wouldn't give it back. All gone.
no subject
no subject