I've Been Waiting For Something...

I'm challenging myself to post daily, so that I'm at least writing -something- every day. Slowly but surely I'm trying to work back into writing. It's funny how over the past few years it turned from something I seemed to remember genuinely enjoying to a chore. I stopped writing for myself entirely and so everything turned into an excuse--why write in my blog if everyone has stopped reading it? Why put work into this assignment when I can BS my way to an A no problem? Why work on a story that isn't -for- anything?

And I've been realizing more and more lately that I want more than anything just to create. I've had the ideas all along but I've been lacking any kind of ambition. But I think I'm beginning to ease into it. Also, I've sort of given myself a kick to get started, because I've changed my mind yet again--and I'm taking the year off from school. Ultimately, the next year serves as a test for me. The majority of my friends will be either in school or working full-time so I'll have days to myself, and what I do with them will determine, really, the rest of my life. If it turns out that I really am so terminally lazy [or such a terrible writer] then I'll head back to college and throw myself upon the mercy of computer science. Which, by the way, isn't to say that I'm not still interested in it. But when I picture a career in computer science, it bores me. Technology, in small doses, still thrills me sometimes, I'll admit it. And there are some kick-ass jobs in the computer science industry. And with them come thousands and thousands of boring programming gigs. I could do it, yeah. And I'd make more money, and I'd probably have an easier life. But it's not for me.

If I could make a living just creating the things I want to create, that's what I want to do. Is it likely to happen? Not terribly. But I don't think I can possibly give up on it without even trying. [Don't worry, I'm not quitting my job too. I'm being naive, not stupid.] In addition to writing I want to put some time into music as well, songwriting and arranging and recording if it gets that far.

So this is where it begins. They say journaling on a daily basis is important for writers, and I figure blogging is close enough.

Oh, and anyone curious about that last post: Elizabeth Mohl was a sixteen-year-old girl who died at Lifest, a Christian rock festival in Osh Kosh that most of you know I go to every year. There was a bungee ride there and she fell from the top of it, about 50-60 feet and died that night of the resulting injuries. The fest continued [but everything was late; apparantly the staff had to make the difficult decision of whether or not to cancel the fest] but we were all pretty shaken up over the whole thing. I had actually been writing about Lifest while I was there and had planned to type up everything as blog entries when I got back, but it seemed a lot less important after what happened. I'm alright, now, but I was pretty freaked out at the time and I'm pretty sure that the friends I went with came as close as they may ever be to seeing me break down. That being said, Lifest was for the most part another positive experience and I'll more than likely end up going again next year--but if I ever feel as helpless as I did when I saw her body it'll be too soon.

Dear Elizabeth:

We never met. Or maybe we did, but neither of us knew. It doesn't matter either way. We didn't know each other. Still, you affected me in a way you never got to see, and I just wanted to tell you.

I didn't know the man who ran inside to tell us what had happened, either. Maybe he was a youth leader, or your father. But when he asked all of us to pray, I actually did, because of you.

And when I went back to the campsite, unsure if I would manage to keep myself composed enough to tell my friends what happened, I passed your body, and the paramedics coming in for you. I couldn't bring myself to look with more than a passing glance. I've seen people who were dying, but they all knew they were dying. You didn't. Or at least, you weren't ready to.

I've told people before--or maybe I've only thought it, and never specifically said--that it shouldn't take a tragedy to wake us up to our world. We should be living our lives regardless. And yet, all I could think about was how sudden the realization was that it could all end at any moment. That one little thing could shift and our lives could be ripped apart. Two of my friends had ridden the day before--I think it hit them the hardest, because it came with an added "It could have been me."

A few days afterwards, I started to check news sites for the details. I can't say why, but it was important to me to learn your name. I was surprised with some of the comments I came across in my search. Atheists accusing Christians of using you as some kind of martyr to the cause, and Christians shaken in their faith because their God took an innocent girl's life away. You caused quite a stir.

Still others were quite apathetic towards the whole thing, and why shouldn't they be? They didn't know you. I didn't know you. But I was there. I didn't see you fall but I saw you lying lifeless. Still alive, but lifeless. People die every day and no one person deserves any more recognition than another but the fact remains: I was there. It affected me. I think it surprised me just how much it affected me. Between seeing you there, and the quivering in the man's voice as he struggled just to pray aloud, I couldn't get you, this stranger I'd never met, out of my mind. To be honest, I'm still trying to figure out what you changed in me. Something's different. I can feel it. But I haven't worked out quite what it is yet.

I am not self-righteous enough to believe that this was some kind of sign, and I am not going to say, "Well, at least some good came of this." But a tragedy happened, and despite all the bad, I just want to know, you helped inspire me. And I'm sure I can't be the only one of the thousands of people who attended Lifest who feels this way.

Forgive me, Elizabeth, because I didn't write this letter anywhere near soon enough, and it's quite late and I'm losing focus. But this has been on my mind for some time now, and tonight I finally wrote you.

With love,

Christopher Bergum.

rantrantrant

A lot's been going on lately, sort of. A lot has changed since I last posted. I'm engaged now, which comes as a surprise to everyone, including myself. I realize full well the dangers [and foolishness] of getting engaged at such a young age, but to be perfectly honest, it's the one decision I've made in the past year or so that actually feels right. And anyway, the actual wedding won't be for a couple years, at least.

I've gone back on my decision to stay in college and now I'm back in the indecisive state. Part of me thinks the best idea is to go back and part of me doesn't see the point. But hey, it might be too late for me to go back now and the choice will be made for me.

I feel very melancholy writing this. I've discovered recently that I sort of miss those week-or-so spurts of wild blogging because there are parts of my life that I really wish were chronicled somehow. Like, for example, if I'd posted the day I'd proposed it wouldn't have been a statement, hey, I'm engaged now. It would have been filled with exclamation points and an endearing excitement. It might have mentioned my ring-shopping anxiety or the way she tried not to cry but did anyway. But tonight it's just factual.

If someone would just tell me what I wanted to do with my life, all this would be a lot easier.

Man, listen to me. Bitch bitch bitch. Ohnoes I'm the first person in the world not to know what they're doing with their life. ohemmgee how terrible for me. Fuck you, emochris. You're engaged to a girl you're hopelessly and completely in love with. You don't know what you're doing with your life? At least you have someone to help you through it. And you live in a house with a bunch of your friends and you work at a job you have fun doing. How horrible. What, your parents love you unconditionally and this causes them to occasionally be irritating? Oh man how do you make it through the DAY. The only one you have any cause to be bitter with it yourself.

So, this post sort of backfired. I think I hate myself more now than I did before. Hm.