A Moment Part 1

We're walking next to each other in near silence.
My eyes are trained on the empty street ahead of us but I can hear her, hear her breath harshening as she struggles to keep her composure. I don't know the whole story, only that her heart is broken, which is good enough for me.
Knowing her, and knowing there's nothing useful I could say, I reach out gently, tentatively.
Our fingers brush, our pace slows. We near the end of the block and her hand is clasped in mine.
Then, with a small pained noise she turns in to my arms. I hold her wordlessly, her tears soaking the shoulder of my shirt.
I'd had my coat in one hand, and out of instinct I'd covered her as she hugged me.
For a short while we share that space under my coat. Her, succumbing to the sadness she held, and I, feebly doing what I could to guard her from the rest of the world as she did it, my heart heavy with empathy.

Downward Spiral

Last month a couple of my friends and a surprising amount of strangers* got to first; See exactly how messy and confusing my thought process is. And then; See that I don't actually know how to present an important message with any real clarity.
This month I hope to actually finish one of the many blog entries cluttering my to-do list.
Unfortunately, instead of getting anything with research and substance, today you'll be getting that other thing. The one that would sit in my 750words account.
For anyone unfamiliar with 750words it's a pretty brilliant website dedicated to writing. If you click on that link they'll explain it better than I, but I will say that my favorite aspects of it are the vague rewards of "Points" after every complete entry, and more importantly, the fact that they keep entries private. It's sort of like a livejournal for people with shame.
My account is unsurprisingly packed with rambling entries of my views on goals, friendship, depression, and food.
I'll do my best not to have another entry like this in my blog, not because I think any of you care, only that I had specific intentions towards this blog and unfortunately being an adult means holding yourself to your commitments. No more parents or teachers to keep us on the straight and narrow (curved and mid ranged?)
I'm going to say this blog entry was more of a "This Season, On Exformation Station**" teaser thing, not a very accurate one seeing as I pretty much just promised you wouldn't see anything LIKE this (Downward Spiral of a) blog entry, maybe it's more of a way to familiarize you with my "voice"
That's a writing term right? "voice?"
Man, fucking grammar.

*Seriously, not that in the internet world 100+ pageviews is much at all, but this means there's 100+ more people who read blogs than I thought there were. Are you here now? Did you actually read my old entries or did you accidentally type the wrong URL in when you were trying to update your livejournal?
Please feel free to leave a comment answering those questions, tell me about your (possible) blog reading lifestyle, or just call me a buttfart, seriously, I just want to know who's reading this shit.

**I am fucking OBSESSED with the concept of exformation, likely because myself and so many people I know rely heavily on it for the bulk of our conversations. I've got this idea of an absurd dystopian future where every day life is riddled with miscommunications; eventually all of society just started speaking in memes, The extended Lord of The Rings set was conveyed in the span of an hour, we probably bombed someone when we ment to send them a christmas present. It's stupid, and awesome, I lovehate it. The "station" part is just because of my unexpected boner for alliteration. Seriously, I know it's not even a little bit clever but all I want is to title something "Exformation Station"

This Is Why We CAN Have Nice Things

Or:

The Difference Between Self-Care and Pretentiousness

I know, I get it, there's overzealous foodies, wine snobs, stereotypical hipsters, self obsessed whatevers. We see a trilby-sporting-someone smoking a pipe, see a name brand purse slung carelessly over someones shoulder. Depending on who you are; that's fucking aggravating. We all love the scruffy every-man hero because we can identify with them, they're accessible. We're low to middle class and we make do with the cards we were dealt, we keep socks with holes, we buy the food that's on sale, we drink cheep beer and if we're not careful we live from paycheck to paycheck.

We use what works, not what's best. Me? I respect that, hell I'm proud of that.

I moved out of my folks place when I was 19, one of the first people I lived with was passionate about food and worked as a chef in an Italian place nearby. Might of just been a line cook, I never clarified because it was clear this wasn't his dream job, it was a stepping stone.

He was frugal where he chose to be, then he would spend the bulk of his money on quality ingredients; foodstuffs, delicious beers, wines, and hard liquors. He taught me more about cooking than either of my parents, then he taught me the anchovies from Pike Place Market were nothing like Pizza Huts'. I already knew the value of a home cooked meal or handmade item, he branched off from that knowledge by showing me what happens when one dedicates themselves to said craft.

This way I learned to tell what was technically "better" while understanding it was a different grading system. 

I feel absolutely spoiled when someone cooks for me, it's hard to say more on the subject without sounding mushy; as if I were talking about a romance. 

This is when "technical skill" or "experience" stop having meaning; maybe they throw in the onions later than they should, maybe the food'll overcook and everything becomes the same texture. It doesn't matter because the intention is still there. The cook has gifted us with their time, energy, and creativity. To me that is an expression of love.

The craftsman, the enthusiast, they're showing the highest levels of potential these ingredients hold. In this case what we're gifted isn't only the time they're spending with you, it's also the time they've spent on themselves, on their skill sets, they're showing you their passion.

When I buy myself good food, booze, or smokes, it's not because I am self important or because I find cheap items beneath me. Its because I want to experience what these craftsmen have made and shared with all of us, I want to experience their passion.

Early Mid-Life Crisis Part 1

I'm 22, why am I starting this NOW?
Also, is it offensive to use "I" too many times in a blog post?
It depends on the blog right, the type I mean.
Honestly I don't keep up with blogs often, I followed a friends' fashion blog but it might of only been because she's such a cutie.

What kind of blog will this be? Personal anecdotes? Reviews of fashion? Food? Make up?
A thinly disguised excuse to draw attention to myself?

Do you have a blog? What do you write about in it? Why do you write?

Actually, if this is going to go any further I'll need a change of format.
Those question marks were getting physically and emotionally exhausting for my Shift key.

I wanted to learn some sexy HTML for my blog, sort of as a way to show off my conviction, and to make my blog pretty. I was going to use the experience as filler for my first post, maybe do some goofy word arrangements. Shenanigans.  I don't even know if one CAN make goofy word arrangements, when I picture it in my head it involves tacky sparkles and big letters, I didn't actually end up learning much HTML.
My point was going to be; Keep using your brain after College, or High School, or whatever. Don't forget how to learn things, how to teach yourself things, how to find trustworthy information. It was going to be pretty inspiring.
I made this blog a week ago (two weeks ago?) and this is my first post. Am I a failure? Or was there a lesson in all this? I don't need a sexy blog layout to share my thoughts, I just need a (hilarious and witty) URL.
It sounds pretty good.
But presentation is everything. (That's foreshadowing for a future blog post!)

What will this blog be about? (Blog? Is it supposed to be capitalized? Am I committing a Blogger faux pas right now?)
Eventually I'd like it to be a mish-mash of stupid shit I think about, delicious things I imbibe, important shit I try to understand, and next year when I've moved in with my family in Peru it'll also be a sort of "travel guide-scrap book" (If I were in Word right now it'd tell me I just wrote a run on sentence)

I've never done something like this, as I'm writing these words I'm feeling preemptive embarrassment for this whole project. However, from the sounds of things I'll always feel this way.
I asked myself "Do I want to die having never tried to write?"
Guess the answer.