I’ve officially lost it. I may or may not be sitting in my living room, carrying on a one-sided conversation with my deaf cat about how small he looks in our now-clean living room. (He is a runt…) Topher may have watched Henri, le Chat Noir a few too many times, but since he hasn’t started meowing pithily at our matching water fountain I think it might just be the deaf thing.
I get the feeling he doesn’t enjoy the camera.
Meanwhile, Tej just keeps it cool wherever he can escape from Topher or the humans…
…unless the human has a camera.
It’s been a quiet night. If it was chilly outside it would be the perfect night for unpacking my thoughts and going over each one by one. I could write pseudo-philosophical poetry about anything and pretend that I’m 19 again and mostly without any cares – and yet, strangely, unhappier than any average 19-year-old should be.
That’s the struggle I’ve been having – I feel that I’m at my most creative when I am upset or melancholy or even just caught up in how things used to be, but other than “normal” frustrations I find it difficult to stay in that frame of mind. I know, a good problem to have, right? I love the darkness, both physically and metaphorically, but I no longer live there. My life now is in the light.
Perhaps I need to stay focused on what’s ahead rather than picking through what’s behind me. Digging through the past has proven to be an exercise in impotent frustration – I understand nothing more than I ever did, and I feel like the outsider I am when I examine the memories of the girl who was me, and who is me…but who, at the same time, could never be me.
Just…don’t ever let me get back to the uber-sappy crap I used to write. I may or may not want to kick my own ass when I come across it.
Well, this may or may not have had a point. I’m not too concerned about it, so you shouldn’t be either. And if you are…
C'est que c'est 