Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool?
A lot magic seems lost lately, and given the passing holiday, I suppose it's a fitting theme for me to ramble on about. I was far from the "Christmas Spirit" this year, completely void as a matter of fact, but for a bit there I was excited simply for the concept of giving to the people close to me. Well that was injured before the exchange, and completely slaughtered afterward. Everything seems so facts and figures, costs and numbers. I wanted to give what I thought would go over well, and what I hoped would go over well, and that just didn't really seem to work in either case.
I really only wanted to give gifts that would have meaning; something they care about, or something I cherish and want to share with them. Well, there's only two people I could even begin to fathom that being even somewhat successful with, and for folks like my parents I'd be clueless. And in the end I don't really think it'd be fully appreciated, if it all.
"So I spent fifty bucks on you and all you got for me is this mixed cd of music I probably won't like?"
"I gave you 7 gifts and all you gave me was this painting you did?"
But I get the feeling at least one worked, so I should be happy with that.
Continuing on with our theme here, I spent a couple hours re-arranging and cleaning my room tonight, making adequate room for a new piece of furniture. And when I was moving all of my cds from one location to another, the thought popped into my head that I could probably sell another chunk out of the collection, as I did about a month ago. And then I started thinking about it, and it seems like the huge passion I had for music is basically dead. And that is a dreadfully tragic concept right there. In my history of rock and roll class this semester my professor mentioned that by the time someone is about twenty, they've completely established their musical tastes. Makes sense to me, only now at twenty-two my tastes have become so refined that I can't even define them. Essentially there's only a handful of bands I could stand to listen to at any time, and everything else is now "when I'm in the right mood" for it. Everything new I've come across entertains me, for a brief moment, but never touches me, makes me feel, lets me relate, and all those other things that make music worthwhile. I've also recently come to the decision that I'm not gonig to be buying another cd for a long, long while. Funny to think that once upon a time I would be at least five cds every other week, if not every week.
I feel like I'm having a midlife crisis, and that I've come face to face with my own mortality, and that I'll wake up tomorrow and fourty years have passed and I'll swell with every elderly cliché in the book, and try to find Jesus with each fleeting breath from my gray-haired, liver-spotted body. I guess this is why most people I've encountered in the past year say they want to be dead by at least fifty, one even thirty.
...My train of thought is lost, and I just got my vent out with a phonecall from Ash. Oh well, the bigger concept is here.
I really only wanted to give gifts that would have meaning; something they care about, or something I cherish and want to share with them. Well, there's only two people I could even begin to fathom that being even somewhat successful with, and for folks like my parents I'd be clueless. And in the end I don't really think it'd be fully appreciated, if it all.
"So I spent fifty bucks on you and all you got for me is this mixed cd of music I probably won't like?"
"I gave you 7 gifts and all you gave me was this painting you did?"
But I get the feeling at least one worked, so I should be happy with that.
Continuing on with our theme here, I spent a couple hours re-arranging and cleaning my room tonight, making adequate room for a new piece of furniture. And when I was moving all of my cds from one location to another, the thought popped into my head that I could probably sell another chunk out of the collection, as I did about a month ago. And then I started thinking about it, and it seems like the huge passion I had for music is basically dead. And that is a dreadfully tragic concept right there. In my history of rock and roll class this semester my professor mentioned that by the time someone is about twenty, they've completely established their musical tastes. Makes sense to me, only now at twenty-two my tastes have become so refined that I can't even define them. Essentially there's only a handful of bands I could stand to listen to at any time, and everything else is now "when I'm in the right mood" for it. Everything new I've come across entertains me, for a brief moment, but never touches me, makes me feel, lets me relate, and all those other things that make music worthwhile. I've also recently come to the decision that I'm not gonig to be buying another cd for a long, long while. Funny to think that once upon a time I would be at least five cds every other week, if not every week.
I feel like I'm having a midlife crisis, and that I've come face to face with my own mortality, and that I'll wake up tomorrow and fourty years have passed and I'll swell with every elderly cliché in the book, and try to find Jesus with each fleeting breath from my gray-haired, liver-spotted body. I guess this is why most people I've encountered in the past year say they want to be dead by at least fifty, one even thirty.
...My train of thought is lost, and I just got my vent out with a phonecall from Ash. Oh well, the bigger concept is here.