Future Sarah

and all points onward

I am at BABScon with my brother this weekend (as we speak). If you are too, you should let me know….


25 May 2011

It’s funny: May 25th stands out for me because I used to have picture folders on my computer named for the date their contents were taken, and in a folder named 5-25-02, there were pictures from a day spent in Old Town with Ryan, Michael, Vince, and Amy. Ryan felt like my boyfriend then in a way that he so rarely did otherwise. He liked me, and I liked him, and we were comfortable together. 

Sometimes, I want to forget about all that because otherwise it feels like I’m lingering and not moving on, and not moving on seems so pathetic, but that’s the only time I’ve felt that. So maybe - actually probably - it’s not that I miss Ryan or that I’m still hung up on him. It’s just that I miss that comfortable companionship and the knowledge that we liked each other equally.

I was just thinking last night that I wish there was someone who thought about me the way that I think about guys I’m interested in. When I like someone, it’s impossible to keep from imagining theoretical futures or unlikely, accidental meetings.

Ryan would say things that meant he thought about me. Things reminded him of me, or he would see, hear, or read something that he thought I would like.

Really, that’s just the way it is with friends, isn’t it? So that must be what I’m really missing. I don’t just want this romance. I want inside jokes and companionship and closeness.

He admired things that I did, and he believed in me. I believe in myself plenty, but as I’ve said before, it’s really affirming when someone you admire admires you too.

I need to step back, stop feeling lonely, and get excited about being on my own, possibly in Europe, doing the things I’ve dreamed about doing. 

There’s so much art I could be making and so many stories I could be writing in all the time I spend sitting in front of Facebook. 

Whatever happened to Sarah Simpson, the girl who wrote every day, the girl who had a readership? 

Why have I let that go? Why don’t I value my work?

I need to figure out how to live and write. Maybe then I can figure out how to live, write, and relate to other people.

Loading my queue with super secret diary posts, and … there is just so much duuuuumb stuff in my diary. 

And so much, “I need to get up and start writing or find an ESL job,” and three years later I’m still sitting here in front of the computer doing nothing.

This is turning out to be embarrassing in ways I didn’t anticipate.

Yeah, and it’s fun to play out different futures / professions. How does my politician self end up different from my novelist self?

Now, I’m imagining an entire town populated by Ians…. 

Like this Doctor Who Christmas special:

Yeah, I make so many doppelgangers of myself in the Sims that it gets awkward when they all inevitably end up friends with each other.

OH yeah. They don’t always look like me, but everybody has to be artistic or a bookworm or both. It’s a rule.

What are their personalities?
Sorry, I had to wait until my next sims session because I couldn’t remember, and sims takes decades to start up. The traits I gave them are mildly embarrassing, but really, I don’t think you’ll be terribly surprised:
  • Molly is artistic, nurturing, flirty, friendly, and a bookworm.
  • Roger is artistic, athletic, a natural cook, a good kisser, and has a good sense of humor (oh gosh, it sounds like a personal ad).

And now, they have a toddler named Odessa, and they got married in their living room. 


Károly Kernstock, Colorful Girl Head,1910


Károly Kernstock, Colorful Girl Head,1910

(via ilikeyoulately)

angiedoesthings reblogged your photoset and added:
omg SIMS. i’m in the beginning stages of a ranching legacy; my goal is 10 generations (knowing full well i’ll be sick of them after 3.)
Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever made it past three generations…. It’s like “How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?” 

18 May 2011

I just finished reading I Capture The Castle again. I don’t know how many times that is. I read it first in 2004, the summer before senior year. That seems like centuries ago.

It seems funny that my favorite book is told through journals, and I can hardly manage to write this journal once every other week (I take that back; it’s only four days since my last entry).

Okay, so this isn’t really my voice. It’s like Sarah writing with a Cassandra accent.

It would be lovely if I started to write down every little thing that went on and then the man of my dreams walked in out of the night, just in time to be chronicled. 

Ugh. I just need to write something. How have I gone so long without completing anything?