Consider yourself blogged...
A familiar feeling washes over me. That good old feeling that you just can't understand. Ah, nostalgia. Oh, reminiscence. More than deja vu, but less than a memory. I shut the floodgates, blocking the terrors without. As thick as the blanket of snow that refuses to take "no" for an answer, the feeling washes over me.
I tremble slightly. Can it be? Could the evil return? Surely those "February Blues" cannot be so intricately and decisively linked to the whims of the climate. Like clockwork? Like the waxing and waning of the moon? A fact? A statistic? Tales whispered like gospel from a grandfather's lips?
I deign to wax defensive. To assure myself. I will not accept this. Surely, this cannot be.
It is something more.
A familiar feeling washes over me. The spark of life inside of me can not, will not, be extinguished.
And OH, how the green-ness of the lights blesses all! It burns still! A beacon! A pulse! A goddamned REASON!
Memories flood my mind, like a once-barren tidal pool choking for today's last breath. Images, moments, and honest-to-goodness TRUTH. We breathe! We live! We love! There is hope, and the masks cannot lie to me anymore.
What does all this mean? What is happening to me?
I heard once that our sense of smell has the strongest memory. That the olfactory nerves were somehow more directly linked to our memory schema than any of the other senses. More than touch, taste, hearing, even sight.
THAT, my fellow true-believers, is naught but hogwash. LOVE has the strongest memory. Can we not remember so clearly those moments when we fell in love? When the crush was realized? The leering height of fruition? The dazzling explosion of emotion? The feeling of understanding all? Of finding meaning, sense, a pattern, in the cosmos? The look? The touch? The rush? The cliche?
Nothing can replace those memories. We have love in our lives.
The spark burns brightly, hidden and clouded by that which means not as much as we are lead to believe.
A professor met with me recently to discuss my complete lack of direction in life, and subsequently/consequentially, my inability to complete any schoolwork whatsoever. She asked questions that, in retrospect, were too personal. Yet, undeniably, RIGHT. What am I afraid of? What am I trying to prove? Why can I not let myself fail? Why is my desire to succeed so strong that I paradoxically am afraid to even try?
She was a mirror. I am always looking for what's next. I can feel no happiness in my victories, minor or major. I am sleepwalking. Looking for that which, at least, I cannot find, or, at most, doesn't even exist, and assuredly, that which I cannot make out in the haze of my confusion. But the time is now. We cannot deny the momentary pleasures, nay the momentary fragments of bliss, that dot the rugged landscape of being 21. We are letting it all slip by. We are sleepwalking. Why wait for perfection, when perfection can be realized simply by DOING, FINDING, MAKING? This can happen.
A feeling washes over me. The moments are realized in a blinding flash. We have love in our lives.
A triumphant return.
A familiar feeling washes over me. That good old feeling that you just can't understand. Ah, nostalgia. Oh, reminiscence. More than deja vu, but less than a memory. I shut the floodgates, blocking the terrors without. As thick as the blanket of snow that refuses to take "no" for an answer, the feeling washes over me.
I tremble slightly. Can it be? Could the evil return? Surely those "February Blues" cannot be so intricately and decisively linked to the whims of the climate. Like clockwork? Like the waxing and waning of the moon? A fact? A statistic? Tales whispered like gospel from a grandfather's lips?
I deign to wax defensive. To assure myself. I will not accept this. Surely, this cannot be.
It is something more.
A familiar feeling washes over me. The spark of life inside of me can not, will not, be extinguished.
And OH, how the green-ness of the lights blesses all! It burns still! A beacon! A pulse! A goddamned REASON!
Memories flood my mind, like a once-barren tidal pool choking for today's last breath. Images, moments, and honest-to-goodness TRUTH. We breathe! We live! We love! There is hope, and the masks cannot lie to me anymore.
What does all this mean? What is happening to me?
I heard once that our sense of smell has the strongest memory. That the olfactory nerves were somehow more directly linked to our memory schema than any of the other senses. More than touch, taste, hearing, even sight.
THAT, my fellow true-believers, is naught but hogwash. LOVE has the strongest memory. Can we not remember so clearly those moments when we fell in love? When the crush was realized? The leering height of fruition? The dazzling explosion of emotion? The feeling of understanding all? Of finding meaning, sense, a pattern, in the cosmos? The look? The touch? The rush? The cliche?
Nothing can replace those memories. We have love in our lives.
The spark burns brightly, hidden and clouded by that which means not as much as we are lead to believe.
A professor met with me recently to discuss my complete lack of direction in life, and subsequently/consequentially, my inability to complete any schoolwork whatsoever. She asked questions that, in retrospect, were too personal. Yet, undeniably, RIGHT. What am I afraid of? What am I trying to prove? Why can I not let myself fail? Why is my desire to succeed so strong that I paradoxically am afraid to even try?
She was a mirror. I am always looking for what's next. I can feel no happiness in my victories, minor or major. I am sleepwalking. Looking for that which, at least, I cannot find, or, at most, doesn't even exist, and assuredly, that which I cannot make out in the haze of my confusion. But the time is now. We cannot deny the momentary pleasures, nay the momentary fragments of bliss, that dot the rugged landscape of being 21. We are letting it all slip by. We are sleepwalking. Why wait for perfection, when perfection can be realized simply by DOING, FINDING, MAKING? This can happen.
A feeling washes over me. The moments are realized in a blinding flash. We have love in our lives.
A triumphant return.
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