The Scientist
I'm listening to "The Scientist" by coldplay.
For some reason I think it's one of the most candid, apologetic loves songs in existance. It humbles me, and makes me want to beg forgiveness for the psychotic, accusatory way I get sometimes. I want to fall on my knees, and say "I KNOW I'm crazy, and you're so good for putting up with all of it". Sometimes I do say that, and then he gives me a look like I've just apologized for having blonde hair. He doesn't seem to notice that I'm nuts.
I'm reading "Dogs of Babel" right now. Peggy reccomended it to me. It's about a guy who's wife one day has an accident, and dies while he's at work. Everyone thinks it's an accident, and he's almost convinced of that too...but there were no witnesses, except for her dog.
It's hard to describe so far, and I'm not all that far into it. His memories create a love story, and what's so stunning is the soft way his grief weighs on him. He hasn't screamed, and demanded answers from an unknown divine presence. He hasn't destroyed his home, and his life, and he hasn't fallen to his knees, stricken. He's just continuing his life..and there's an emptiness, and it's sad...and it seems like he's very slowly losing touch with reality.
of course, I'm only several chapters in, and I could be wrong. Maybe he isn't really going quietly insane at all, and maybe he will all of a sudden break down or lash out. But it's making me think- how would I deal with something like that? What's better?
Would I try for a tainted, empty and sad normalcy? Would I break down and loose touch for a while? Would I resent the world and become bitter forever? Or would I have my time of despair and blackness and then eventually get back on my feet and take life up again, just more wounded than before?
I hate to say it, but I guess it depends on when It happens. If I'm still young, I guess I'll passionately display my grief and then recover, and let my will to live guide me to a different life, and a different partner? If I'm a little older, my 30's and 40's, I guess I'll live my life in sadness for a long time, without those dramatic fireworks.
I don't like thinking about it. I can't help it now, of course, reading what I am. But i've discovered it's easier to think about my own mortality. One day I'll stop being alive. Maybe I'll be old, and it will be peacefeul, as I'm sleeping. Or during a beautiful autumn day while I'm on my back porch. Or maybe I'll be 30, and my life will be ripped from my in a flash while a semi smashes into my drivers side...maybe it will be tomorrow.
But this living, breathing, constantly surprising man who likes to try everything once? This guy who I watch sleep sometimes, and who has this bizzare affinity for macaroni and cheese...the gross kraft kind. I can't swallow the concept of that not existing.
For some reason I think it's one of the most candid, apologetic loves songs in existance. It humbles me, and makes me want to beg forgiveness for the psychotic, accusatory way I get sometimes. I want to fall on my knees, and say "I KNOW I'm crazy, and you're so good for putting up with all of it". Sometimes I do say that, and then he gives me a look like I've just apologized for having blonde hair. He doesn't seem to notice that I'm nuts.
I'm reading "Dogs of Babel" right now. Peggy reccomended it to me. It's about a guy who's wife one day has an accident, and dies while he's at work. Everyone thinks it's an accident, and he's almost convinced of that too...but there were no witnesses, except for her dog.
It's hard to describe so far, and I'm not all that far into it. His memories create a love story, and what's so stunning is the soft way his grief weighs on him. He hasn't screamed, and demanded answers from an unknown divine presence. He hasn't destroyed his home, and his life, and he hasn't fallen to his knees, stricken. He's just continuing his life..and there's an emptiness, and it's sad...and it seems like he's very slowly losing touch with reality.
of course, I'm only several chapters in, and I could be wrong. Maybe he isn't really going quietly insane at all, and maybe he will all of a sudden break down or lash out. But it's making me think- how would I deal with something like that? What's better?
Would I try for a tainted, empty and sad normalcy? Would I break down and loose touch for a while? Would I resent the world and become bitter forever? Or would I have my time of despair and blackness and then eventually get back on my feet and take life up again, just more wounded than before?
I hate to say it, but I guess it depends on when It happens. If I'm still young, I guess I'll passionately display my grief and then recover, and let my will to live guide me to a different life, and a different partner? If I'm a little older, my 30's and 40's, I guess I'll live my life in sadness for a long time, without those dramatic fireworks.
I don't like thinking about it. I can't help it now, of course, reading what I am. But i've discovered it's easier to think about my own mortality. One day I'll stop being alive. Maybe I'll be old, and it will be peacefeul, as I'm sleeping. Or during a beautiful autumn day while I'm on my back porch. Or maybe I'll be 30, and my life will be ripped from my in a flash while a semi smashes into my drivers side...maybe it will be tomorrow.
But this living, breathing, constantly surprising man who likes to try everything once? This guy who I watch sleep sometimes, and who has this bizzare affinity for macaroni and cheese...the gross kraft kind. I can't swallow the concept of that not existing.