Happiest On The Dancefloor

I just sat and wrote a letter to a friend, like with real paper and a pencil or two (I like sharp pencils) and it was strange how quickly my hand grew fatigued. From the ages 12-18, I wrote constantly, pages upon pages. I filled spirals and binders and organized bad poetry in folders on a fairly routine basis. There is a Converse box in my room back home full of letters that were handed off in the hallway replying to the notes I’d written to friends during downtime in class.

And now, I compose tweets and write to-the-point emails, every now and then, I’ll write a blog post or an especially long Facebook message. But I rarely put pencil or pen to paper for anything longer than a note in a meeting.

I discovered my cursive isn’t nearly as fluid as it once was and I’m far more prone to end sentences in exclamation points.

If anyone’s looking for a pen pal, let me know. I could use the practice.

25 January 2012 ·