i promise you, this relates.

i'm currently sitting in a dark room. my bedroom light bulb blew earlier today and the repairman won't get my entry in the "fix it, bitte" book until tomorrow. so i'm sitting in the dark, listening to the rain softly hit the tin shutters outside my open window and watching the occasional light show the alps are providing.

i think this is the most calm my heart has been in quite some time.

i'm feeling oddly content. "oddly" because my stomach is mad at me for forgetting to go grocery shopping today and my brain is attempting to illicit stress by trying to remind me of pages unwritten with impending due dates.

and yet i'm content. i've spent the past two hours looking at the film photography of a few artists i really admire and reading interviews about why they do what they do. looking at their work and seeing their obvious undying dedication to a supposedly dying art brings me a strange sense of fulfillment. almost as if i can see clearly why it is that i've picked photographyto be so fond of myself.

i didn't start writing this with a self revelation in mind. i only knew i was experiencing one of those soft moments in time the need to be recorded before the flood gates break in, and you're once again drowning in the mundane, having completely forgotten your rare respite.

yesterday, while in my "poetry and painting: the american frontier" class i sat in a chair against the back wall, because all the tables were full, very visibly fighting sleep. to gain the upper hand in that futile battle i started doodling on a blank page i had already titled "this relates." i haven't doodled in an academic setting since AP classes in high school. before long my pictures turned into paragraphs of confessions, things i hadn't yet taken the time to realize about myself.

it may not seem to make much sense now, but i promise you, this relates.