Work was fine. Dissertations require an unbelievable number of references. She’s away again, so I have another Friday off. I wrote a thank-you note to my MLW sponsor and meant every word of it. My Eisenhower paper is okay so far, but I think I’m rambling. Tell me, oh Adkins veterans, would it be bad thing to have more than the minimum number of pages? I mean, considering the way I write and the wealth of information in the biography I found?
Also, yesterday was my first blogiversary. When I started, I didn’t think of it as just a “thing”, a fad, but I am so thankful it didn’t turn out that way. I don’t know how I’d have survived without my blog. It’s scary sometimes, knowing that so many people I know (and maybe some I don’t know) are reading my personal musings, the things that spill out from my heart. At the same time, it’s comforting. Writing, for me, is a release for all the things I can’t say. I guess I am saying them, though. Thank you all for listening.
I just got the most beautiful email from my friend Kat, an eloquent lament about missing Germany. About how the grass is so much greener on the US side of the fence, but once you climb over it, it’s not that great. And subtly about how much she misses all her past acquaintances. It’s incredible.
Pictures, it has been said, are worth a thousand words. Yet looking at a picture leaves me with the same vague sense of dissatisfaction that I have felt when trying to speak my feelings. A picture captures a moment in time, and although it may reveal joy and sadness in people’s faces, pictures could never capture the intrinsic bonds that tie us together as part of a group, as friends. Between us all lies a bond that can not be expressed by anyone in any matter… to attempt to do so would be to devalue the true [magnanimity] of these ties that bind… we knew each other for as long as five years or as short as one before fate separated us, but that time was enough to transplant into each other heartstrings that are pulled each time something strikes memory’s cord… One picture or a hundred, one word or ten thousand… art or song… our friendship is beyond expression… No great writer has ever succeeded in imparting such a bond on paper, so it may be for the best that I dare not try…
Meeting so many new people and making fledgling friendships with them last week reminded me about how much I value friendship in itself. The people that have been closest to me throughout my life have helped me become the person I am. I am not strong; you give me strength. I always feel like I can’t say what’s really in my heart; you help me find the words. I feel like everything, everyone is bad; you help me find the good. I want to use cliché after cliché to describe what I feel, but what is a cliché except the truth?