A Lonely Radio Station

I have no idea what I’m supposed to write about today, so I have been sitting here with this tab open for like two hours, just scrolling deeper and deeper into the depths of Tumblr and thinking up horrendously sad stories, like I do.

Seriously though, props to me for using valuable time that I could be spending on homework and my studies to write stories and daydream instead. I so, so want to be a writer–a published writer–and I firmly believe that practice is the only way to do it, so I write every single day, in an effort to improve my writing style. I don’t write well, so I want to try harder until I do. Sometimes it just seems like I’m not doing anything of use though, because of course your grades are more important than some silly stories–that’s what everyone tells me, in a direct or indirect way. And maybe it’s true. Maybe my stories will never amount to much, and I should just give it all up. It’s not like writing will be the first thing I’ve given up.

And sad stories probably aren’t good for my emotional health, anyway.

I suppose, since I am in a rather formative time of life and am still not emotionally, mentally or physically balanced and mature, that too-sad stories and depressing little tales aren’t really good for me.


But, moving on to better things! Like movies. I love movies. I haven’t watched a complete movie in ages, even though I have this list of them, which includes things like My Neighbor Totoro and Metropolis. I have this completely weird taste in movies, music, and books, so I read, watch and listen to all kinds of different things. You could scroll through my playlist and find, oh I don’t know, alternative rock and dream pop and jazz and rap and classical and R&B and basically everything but metal music. Metal is a bit too loud for me. I don’t have a specific taste in anything, and the only set thing I listen to is Paramore. As for movies and books, I read and watch anything that’s logical. Some books seem like they could be nice, but I reject some of them because I get picky with the author’s writing style. Some styles are…I don’t know, funny and sad and just interesting, while others are just not interesting at all. Boring. I have the same criteria when it comes to fanfiction, god–I refuse to read fanfiction with a lot of grammatical errors. Like, I know I can’t be too picky when it comes to fanfiction–because, god, it’s on the internet and written by all kinds of people–but whatever. It’s like reading other people’s entries on this site. Some people have this very interesting way of wording things, and they sound…I don’t know, just, nice, I guess, and I read them every day even though I don’t know what to comment.

Incidentally, I wonder how many people have read my journal? Like, just read, not necessarily commented. I know there are quite a few people out there that have read and commented, but I don’t know how many people have just read and thought about what I’ve written?

Like, I wish this site could tell you how many, like, “views” your journal has gotten. It would just be interesting to know who has seen what you wrote. Writing on here is this weird way of broadcasting yourself out to the world, and sometimes it feels rather lonely, because it’s like you’re a radio station that no one can hear, but you keep sending out signals from your little station, even though you’re the only one in it and the only one who knows that you exist.

So it’s kind of like we’re all lonely little channels that no one ever really knows about, and most of the time we’re all static and white noise because there’s only one of us and we don’t have the time or energy to send out thoughts all the time.

But sometimes, we catch each other’s signals. We come and we suddenly find someone else’s channel, and we tune in and listen, and maybe we say something and maybe we don’t. And most of us just slip away without letting the broadcaster know we were even there. But it’s still nice, because someone was talking and we were listening, and for a moment–just a short moment–we were connected. And that’s nice.

It’s sad and lonely, but also nice, just being a lonely radio station.

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