Mess of an Authoress
new big (and easier) change to my blog: a merge with my writing blog, Mess of an Authoress, to make… BIG SMILE.
we all know the strenuous efforts to going back and forth between blogs. especially since my personal blog here has been virtually inactive, i’ll finally be back in the game here on Tumblr and bringing along with it my stories, writing hits and misses, and shenanigans that make me happy all the same from my writing blog, Mess of an Authoress.
yeah, i know the name was a handful to pronounce and it does sound pretentious. i’m sorry about that— and i couldn’t think of anything better at the time.
but NOW i want to make Big Smile, where it’s me getting back on track with optimism that fuelled my blogging when i first got on Tumblr. and also, it’s a very personal name to me, with deep ties to late events that have gotten me to return to just trying to be happy and worry less.
Paris is still here. this will just be easier for her and everyone now :)
AND TO MY FOLLOWERS HERE: if you’re still interested in following this blog— or ever read it— it would make the world to me if you could PLEASE FOLLOW paris-kim at Big Smile which will be my official username. will delete this writing blog by tomorrow!
thanks to everyone who did read my works and followed. nothing’s going away, only going to get better!
weather post, mood forecast
yeah San Francisco is great. born and raised in the Bay and it’s always seem fantastic for me. but getting older, the veil is lifted, and the weather— kinda sucks.
it’d be alright if it were consistent, and not sporadically switch up with clouds or fog or dropped temperatures by 10 degrees. all in all, it’s seasonal— cold when it’s winter and fucking HOT when it’s springtime. but summertime and fall switch places, usually, like some contracted spite for the people who live out here. i’m only making a fuss because you’re never prepared with the right clothes is all i’m saying.
it’s seemingly warm outside now, writing this from USF. but in a few minutes the fog might burst in or the heat’ll turn up so intense due to low winds— or none at all. especially as a commuter from the East Bay, i changed outfits last minute from a skirt to jeans and now the skirt would have made sense right about now. damn.
but thank God for the warmth today, or for being warm when i still got out here in a light top and cardi. sunshine really does do it for people. it feels like a different entity too from the suburbs or countryside. sunny urbanism is like, to me, shelves— shelves stacked with stores and restaurants and countless activities you want to tackle under your sunglasses and a grin. but when i woke up this morning, the sun brightened the sky to a lush pale blue over the treetops of my neighborhood on the outskirts of a mountain which i can see from my window— you don’t want to do anything than just let the heat hit your shoulder and sit outside and sniff the air that smells damp in a nice, mineral way.
it doesn’t really matter whatever the hell i’m saying in this post, but sun is sun and it just sets the mood for all the right ways— even when i’ve gotten on the wrong clothes.
i love this dude.
Happy Birthday Matt. you had quite a weekend!
dead phone: dead computer, and old diaries: don’t let them bring you down
phone has been dead due to a broken charger which i cannot buy a new one just at the moment. same with my laptop— but that’s another story, it’s always been horrible since last summer :(
being cut off from the world isn’t that bad though. i’ve come to finally embrace thisDickinson-esque way of life, being broke and having broken technology is your own personal and free retreat, away from all the things that worry and distract you (as a writer).
it’s good to go back to simple things and write from scratch— literally. if you’re lost with something, go and try just writing, writing anything, with paper and pen. i don’t know, i felt more constrained trying to accomplish a first draft of a piece when typing it up instantly on a computer. you’re not impressing anyone with writing in pen and paper, you’re apt to mess up and that’s fine, just scratch that mother out! it never fails, and you’ll always end up with something good.
it’s also a good way to improve handwriting over a period of time— which sadly will never happen for me. at least my hand is better than it was in seventh grade- high school. yes, i know because i found my old diaries, funny old things! but i don’t care to really discuss the contents of them without looking like Andy Samberg jizzing in his pants :P the one person to embarrass you without fail is your younger self.
i was bored with some of my paperbacks, so i made them prettier. all hand crafted by me.
a pretty little incident
there is the most beautiful blossom tree in the steep hill behind the gates that draw out the boundaries of my backyard. if not to sound too Anne Shirley-ish, it truthfully was a surprise and excitement to see that the black tree behind the gate that was bare and stiff in the summers bloomed into a torch of delicate white flowers. if i hadn’t been reading the Anne of Green Gables books recently, there would probably be nothing to tell in this post.
i like flowers in the house and lately there’s been no flowers around, save pine cones whose strong wintry scents are fading and fake holly garlands coiled to be put in the garage soon. with a pretty tree in the back of the house it’s hard to not think about possibly getting some flowers and for free. so i made up my mind to go out back this weekend and pluck a few sprigs of blossoms for the kitchen table. thing is, once i unlocked—with difficulty— the back gate door, i closed it after a few seconds. there was mud and tall green grass surely lined with a snake, and a fallen tree was in my path up the dangerously steep hillside. it was rocky and the tree, at this range, was much farther away than it had looked. too risky.
i also have acute OCD. i was back inside and i knew i probably did not lock the gate well. soo i got my Union Jack rainboots back on— the bright plastic ones my sister had bought me from her trip to England last November and haven’t touched since nothing i have goes with such obnoxious shoes as them— and trudged back out.
the gate wasn’t locked right.
and now the tree didn’t look that far. or so i kept telling myself, to force myself back out there and give it a shot. i fully unlocked the gate and sprinted up that hill past whatever might be in the dirt. pulling and prying at the sprigs weren’t easy as i imagined, cutting my pinky and thumb to get a few short branches.
now the sprigs are sweet-smelling and grace the table in the kitchen in a clear worn vase and looks fine against the set table. i did that. i pushed myself after shirking away once. i was all set, had the boots and the gate open and everything— except the courage. this was a minor weekend incident that probably seems like nothing, but lately there’s been a lot of doubt in my mind over things that have occurred to me this year, things that have made me feel unhopeful and yes, depressed. i have cried and felt a failure for reasons that now don’t seem to matter.
they don’t seem to matter to tell you all now, because i can still change them. that moment in pushing myself to go up and get the sprigs is personally a triumph to me— a regain of strength and assurance that this tough year for me is going to change, that i will change it. that courage and sterness i had to march up against the dangers of the wildwood needs to grow within me, if not reflourish is it had back in high school. high school, Clayton Valley. good years. i was stronger, persistent, happy. i looked towards other mountain peaks towards which to leap after i’d conquered the top of Maslow’s Hierarchy.
it’s going to all begin again. life is just ups and downs and i’ve been in the downs, but the blossom tree— it’s sudden bloom and calming aesthetics always looming behind— it forced to me to go up.
i’ve also learned that the Union Jack boots may not be too hideous after all. they are most sturdy and handy. they really are made in not-so-loud colors.
Edna St. Vincent Millay at Vassar College in 1914, photographed by Arnold Genthe.
best advice of the week