half-baked comments for today
Snow is long gone. Or should I say on account of others who despise it, 'thank goodness, I, too, almost felt the headache approching at the wretched sight of white everywhere'. But I won't, no, not this time. Not ever, I suppose. Instead, we have gray in wide range of shades. We have more gray than ever this year. What with being locked up in a building where everything is moody and muddle-like-ish. We have rain too, loads of it, showers and drizzles and even wet tides of dirt transported by the wind from the other side of the world. We have it all.
Does that make me a grumbling individual or am I turning English (-ish)?
***
We move around the house like ghosts sometimes or, on the contrary, like creatures who, in their awkward movements, bump into walls, make clutter and unnecessary noise. We hit everything that stands in the way. We are moving as if we were put into a shaker, a carousel that makes our head spin. It's almost like waking up in the morning. Eyes shut, mind still somewhere else. It's maddening, this lack of concentration.
Magnesium makes sleeping better, makes functioning more bearable. Do we need something else? Maybe some kind of medicine, food additives, mineral jelly, concoction prepared by shamans from Kamchatka to make it all work properly, glue our neurons together, open our eyes wider.
We can't be snide everyday and curse heavens for making days so short. It's not that we suffer from sleep deficiency and our bodies have gone gaga.
Perhaps, it's the pressure (both in the physical and psychological sense). It may be the food going bad and wrecking havoc inside our bodies. We can even suspect some nasty outside forces, spirits and untouchable phantoms that we might have unintentionally offended.
There is also a possibility of us being totally different kind of creatures. I think we are perpetually hung somewhere in between, we are hibernated or hypnotized by cars running around, by hands moving up and down, sun rising on the left and going under on the right.
It's all mad, I know, those feeble explanations. But it's impossible to be that tired, isn't it?
Isn't it?
***
I can't watch movies about everlasting love. It makes me too bitter to bear afterwards. Bitter, well, yes, too, but jealous, more like it. That's the word I was looking for. On the other hand, this everlasting feeling that is portrayed, more often that not, is a warm and gentle feeling, easily-breakable feeling and that is what wakes me wonder. Can other loves be real too? When one looks at somebody else and wishes that this person would, at last, notice something, can that feeling be true and honest too? Or is it just silly daydreaming? Can nerve-wracking relationships where people shout at each other and throw things at each other be real too? Because at the end of the day, the love is palpable and genuine and I am confused at how nutty one can be to love that much.
The most bewildering truth is that many of us learn love (and about love, too) from books and from other man-made creations. Maybe that is why all those stories are almost fantastical and other-wordly. I must have missed something in life then, I must have made a misstep because to me it only sounds like stories, complicated tales and fables.
***
This ranting must come to some definite conclusion, I should think. As would Stephen say "I must not grumble". There are essays to write, books to read, conversations in bed to make and windows to open to let some air in.
Does that make me a grumbling individual or am I turning English (-ish)?
***
We move around the house like ghosts sometimes or, on the contrary, like creatures who, in their awkward movements, bump into walls, make clutter and unnecessary noise. We hit everything that stands in the way. We are moving as if we were put into a shaker, a carousel that makes our head spin. It's almost like waking up in the morning. Eyes shut, mind still somewhere else. It's maddening, this lack of concentration.
Magnesium makes sleeping better, makes functioning more bearable. Do we need something else? Maybe some kind of medicine, food additives, mineral jelly, concoction prepared by shamans from Kamchatka to make it all work properly, glue our neurons together, open our eyes wider.
We can't be snide everyday and curse heavens for making days so short. It's not that we suffer from sleep deficiency and our bodies have gone gaga.
Perhaps, it's the pressure (both in the physical and psychological sense). It may be the food going bad and wrecking havoc inside our bodies. We can even suspect some nasty outside forces, spirits and untouchable phantoms that we might have unintentionally offended.
There is also a possibility of us being totally different kind of creatures. I think we are perpetually hung somewhere in between, we are hibernated or hypnotized by cars running around, by hands moving up and down, sun rising on the left and going under on the right.
It's all mad, I know, those feeble explanations. But it's impossible to be that tired, isn't it?
Isn't it?
***
I can't watch movies about everlasting love. It makes me too bitter to bear afterwards. Bitter, well, yes, too, but jealous, more like it. That's the word I was looking for. On the other hand, this everlasting feeling that is portrayed, more often that not, is a warm and gentle feeling, easily-breakable feeling and that is what wakes me wonder. Can other loves be real too? When one looks at somebody else and wishes that this person would, at last, notice something, can that feeling be true and honest too? Or is it just silly daydreaming? Can nerve-wracking relationships where people shout at each other and throw things at each other be real too? Because at the end of the day, the love is palpable and genuine and I am confused at how nutty one can be to love that much.
The most bewildering truth is that many of us learn love (and about love, too) from books and from other man-made creations. Maybe that is why all those stories are almost fantastical and other-wordly. I must have missed something in life then, I must have made a misstep because to me it only sounds like stories, complicated tales and fables.
***
This ranting must come to some definite conclusion, I should think. As would Stephen say "I must not grumble". There are essays to write, books to read, conversations in bed to make and windows to open to let some air in.