The Sentimental Doesn't Flow

As we all know I am a man of many words. I don’t think I talk too much but I may be on the verge of verbal overload for the minority of you whom do not appreciate long type-edness. I usually start off by writing run on sentences or fragmented ones. I leave words out but nevertheless I write a lot. I really enjoy it. The more ridiculous it is the more I write. My mind keeps going and saying things that ought not to be said. So I say them anyway. The whole point to his early rant is that I find myself long winded in the moments of insubstantial conversation, but when it comes down to the real, I clam up. Why do I do this? Maybe it’s because life is too short for me to be sentimental…

The over baring reality is that I do not deal well with sad times. I don’t mope and I don’t cry over them. I don’t show exuberance on the other side, but I just don’t process things the same way as other people. When I was in 8th grade we had to do this writing assignment. We wrote short stories and poems. Every kid had a dark short story, and a depressing poem. I chalk it up the fact that every 8th grader is way too over dramatic. They stay that way until they turn 19 or 20. It’s true. I have facts locked into my head. Don’t test me. Back to the point, every one wrote these dark stories and I ended up writing something dark but I only did it because I thought that was expected. I thought that being dark made you think deeper and it meant that you were more intellectual if you didn’t view life with a happy tone. This only made me frustrated because I’m not a dark person by nature. I am a sinner by nature, but not an overly dark person. It’s because of this that I see that I don’t follow the norm and have a hard time processing the sadder times in life.

What brought this on is the fact that I am looking through the things of Ben and Jen, as I often do, and I couldn’t help but realize that my comment that is written on their scrap bookish engagement picture is short and somewhat lame. Hannah had asked a bunch of us to write something for the Thorntons, but I couldn’t’ think of anything to write. In my head the words I write don’t change the minds of people nor do the words make the world a better place. In my head, my words are just the overflow of my brain. I like writing because it takes up a lot of time and I get to use words that I can’t pronounce very well in normal conversation. I get to sound smarter than I am. But I can’t talk verbosely about the people I care about in a sentimental way.

Why is it that I can write about the word “Bombatron” (which is sweeping the nation by storm) but I can’t say the things that have substance and baring on the lives of those I truly care about. Don’t get me wrong; I care a lot about the word “bombatron” but not as much as the people who shape me to be the person that I am today. So in this long winded attempt to figure out what my life is doing, I am have made the attempt to relay this thought: Though I don’t express myself through words, I dearly care about every one that comes into my life. I do not do well with sentiments and I find that many if not most sentiments are false anyway. I will do whatever I can to show my love for people through my actions and I don’t rely on my words to carry me through. My only hope is that people see this and know that I do truly care no matter what non-sense is spewing from my lips or fingers.