2005-10-08
worn
I wish we were not so defined (I could end this sentence right here and it would still ring true) by what we do. I am This. You are That. We are what we do, and thus are different. If we are going to define and segregate each other by what we do, why not make it apply to more prevalent habits?
We let the phone ring more than once before we pick it up.
We throw away mail that looks like some lame money-scam thing.
We like looking at the way the waves glimmer in the sun.
We like some sweet, and we like warm, fresh bread.
We like to laugh.
We hum sometimes.
We sometimes forget to throw away our fingernail clippings.
We are what we do, and we all do these things. Can't we let that unite us?
There is no objective reality. And anyone who tries to tell you that "societal standards" are the objective and norm reality is wrong, at least according to my reality.
Sometimes it is so difficult to know that all of life is so subjective. Tolerance levels, stimuli, reactions, emotions, standards, expectations, etc. all depend on each individual story.
Sometimes it is equally sad to consider all the ways that we allow ourselves to recede into the crack. Like if you put a bunch of beads on a piece of paper, then folded the paper in half, how all the beads would slip to the folded area. we huddle. You could tell me that this isn't sad, that it's comforting. And you could be right about it.
The outside stirrs up something within. This weather is of wonder.
I keep reminding myself that it is fleeting. this is all going to end. these vibrant colours, they will fade. the crisp yet warm air will not last, and the now-delicate, coveted leaves will become even more fragile and rare.
I don't feel like I'm oozing or seeping, but I do feel like I am pouring.
I don't want you to be reading this.
Daft Punk from a leather backseat = tidbit of last night.
Robbyness has been swept away to join a dustpan of discarded notions.
I don't play into hypotheticals much. But sometimes they provide perspective.
I wonder what would have happened if my mom's watch was set right.
I wore it one May evening, on a whim.
Quincy wanted to go walking with me. He held my hand. We swung and watched the moon and he showed me how he liked me. I had piano lessons that night, and I was trying to keep track of time.
I got home an hour late; my piano teacher was done waiting and gone by then, and my dad was angry with me. The watch was set wrong.
After that, I was sure I didn't feel for him as he did for me, and that I couldn't be dishonest with him about it any longer, despite the kindness and appreciation he had for me.
That's not really fair, how I could let this one situation be the catalyst of wrecking our potential, even though I am sure now that I made the right decision.
I don't know what that stuff means. I am just thinking a little.
I think about the things I know about people, their secrets or not-widely-known stuffs, even the "juicier" details. And I think about all the people I don't know, and my acquaintences. There must be so many details I do not know about their life, both trivial and significant.
So many things I am missing out of judging them based upon!
Nah, I'm just kidding. :) Or maybe I'm being cynically honest. Once again, I don't know. How about we replaced judging in that sentence with enjoying. That's a little better.
Bet you could never tell
That I knew you didn't know me that well
It is my fault you see
You never learned that much from me
Oh you silly stupid pastime of mine
You were always good for rhyme
I yearn for the return of summer.
..amongst other things.
Such desires are futile and should be trampled a little. Remember, I yearn for Chicago.
I could try, and it could miserably fail, and it wouldn't matter.
I haven't let a single person occupy most of my thoughts for a really long time.
Maybe just to see if I could. That sounds very wrong though.
I wish I wasn't this confusing. At least I know that it makes somewhat sense to me.
Time for some classic second-personness:
I feel so out of touch with you. It makes me sad.
That applies to many different people. And I can make myself the victim of it; you are so busy, and I must seem so uninteresting and always the same as you last left me. But I know it is my fault too, these words drip with my selfishness and neglect. I am sorry.
I want another hug from her. And I want to look in her eyes crinkled by laugh lines, the genuine ones, ones that are not lined with falsity like my own- and know she sees more in me than just being passively impressed.
To hell with what people think. That's the proper philosophy, right? It seems to work so well for those I feel passively negative about (that's just about as far as people get on my hate spectrum).
Everything good I deem too good to be true
Everything else is just a bore
Everything I have to look forward to
Has a pretty painful and very imposing before
..this entry has been strung together by fiona apple. whenever i type out her first name, it comes out "fiano." i think that's funny.
More leaves will fall in this season that is so aptly named. My words will tire; they will stretch and create tears from their wear. I'll come back for more. Maybe you will too.
leesah-likes at 5:10 p.m.