Weird Things
Today is odd. It's one of those days where things feel different and certain things I see stick out in my mind and seem to call out to me. I woke up early and drove to Things That Glow to get some batteries for my glowsticks. The peacefulness of the morning made things feel dreamlike; being out and about so early knowing that not so long ago I would be asleep past noon was almost like crossing new territory. I saw some guy walking this cute puppy that I'm sure I've pet before. I saw a semi with fangs on it's grill. I drove past an elementary school and heard one of those crazied child cries of joy. Once I got to Things That Glow and some guy was replacing my batteries, he was telling me about how a car had burst through their window/wall. I was driving home when I saw this lady walking a chiwawa that walked funny. I got a surge of feeling, sensing the fall and winter to come and the cold crisp weather they will bring. I thought of Lisa and pictured her in winter bundled up in Boston, hopefully warm in someone's arms and watching the snow fall quietly. I feel ready for the coming seasons. I'm looking forward to the holidays.
I want to go to school early and find someplace to read. I need to go buy more food today, more money I'm spending that I don't really have. I feel suspended in the present. I'm putting my foot down and stomping on my laziness, I really need to study this weekend. I'm supposed to memorize this poem for poetry class and recite it in a couple weeks. My professor was telling us how poetry is an artform that you can possess. Once a poem is memorized you can take it with you anywhere, and if you forget most of it there will be lines that stick with you forever. This is the poem I got.
from Holy Sonnets by John Donne
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me,
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell
And poppy or charms can makes us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
I'm walking down long hallways trying to find a red four leaf clover.
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