words in my blog
If I concentrate really hard on what is going on precisely in each moment of every 'present' tense without any slight flavor of the past or furtue, then I feel very very good about life. If I do not do this I despair. In my least favorite class I have managed by describing my professor in my notebook. Every. class. period. It's all pretty much the same. But it makes me happy. He does have the most unfortunate though comical combination of an overstated nose and an understated chin with jowls. If he were a character in a work of fiction he would most definitely aspire to overcome severe insecurity over this matter. And it is the action and it's subsequent lines of thought that keep me from regretting the past and shrinking away from the future. It is a form of escapism that is completely unique to me because I have never accomplished it without receding from humanity altogether- meaning to say that i haven't shut myself up in my room with Wuthering Heights and ordered sushi for every meal...yet. So I do feel pessimistic about what is to come. I fear that if I relax into current state of contentment that It will only bring me the devastating task of getting over a tragedy that I have not been preparing myself for. Isn't that rather silly of me? Still, inescapable. Or rather only escapable when I truly focus. Writing helps ever so much. And the past. Well it's there. I mostly just avoid thinking about it because it makes me feel embarrassed. I know that no one can read my mind and I'm sure that if they could they wouldnn't think that much of it but I still blush when I accidentally remember something stupid that I've done or witnessed.
So now. It's now and it's all I'm thinking about. Right now I am lying in bed and typing on the internet and thinking about someone who I'm having trouble with. And trying not to think about them. Now I am thinking about my new cinnamon broom. My room smells wonderful every time I open the door and makes feel me warm christmasy feelings. I wonder if it would kill my boss to hug him now because I smell so strongly of the spice these days an he is allergic to it. HE was never the hugging type anyway. I'm thinking about how beautiful the fog outside looks in the street lights. They have an air of antiquity about them though they are new installations. Someone obviously is trying very hard to preserve a certain historical aesthetic about the school. From my window it is sort of picturesque. Really pretty when you put out of mind that it is very deliberately so. I don't know why people making such an effort hurts the image for me. I suppose it may just be a kind of snobbiness that I've developed. What a strange requirement to have of the world: all I ask is exceptionally extraordinary beauty that is totally effortless. Demanding. But that's just a part of me that people will have to love or ignore.
At last I am sleepy and so will have to cut this short saying only this: I wish for these people to know me in a million ways besides the ones that they chose. Isn't that so inescapably normal?
So now. It's now and it's all I'm thinking about. Right now I am lying in bed and typing on the internet and thinking about someone who I'm having trouble with. And trying not to think about them. Now I am thinking about my new cinnamon broom. My room smells wonderful every time I open the door and makes feel me warm christmasy feelings. I wonder if it would kill my boss to hug him now because I smell so strongly of the spice these days an he is allergic to it. HE was never the hugging type anyway. I'm thinking about how beautiful the fog outside looks in the street lights. They have an air of antiquity about them though they are new installations. Someone obviously is trying very hard to preserve a certain historical aesthetic about the school. From my window it is sort of picturesque. Really pretty when you put out of mind that it is very deliberately so. I don't know why people making such an effort hurts the image for me. I suppose it may just be a kind of snobbiness that I've developed. What a strange requirement to have of the world: all I ask is exceptionally extraordinary beauty that is totally effortless. Demanding. But that's just a part of me that people will have to love or ignore.
At last I am sleepy and so will have to cut this short saying only this: I wish for these people to know me in a million ways besides the ones that they chose. Isn't that so inescapably normal?