Sheesh, have I not written anything here in a very long time.
Well, I guess I’m off the hook now with this post.
For another 6 months.
Joke.
Or is it? @-)
I rock. I really do. Just to be clear, I’m not a rock music fan. I just really like rocks. You know, stones. Rolling Stones. No, I’m joking. What I’m saying is that there’s times in my life when I think I’m doing pretty darn well.
(yawn)
This post will be boring if I continue writing (let’s admit it), so I’m just going to finish it before we hit that next yawn.
I just wanted to say that when you’re at that point in your life when you pretty much have things sorted and you’re not frustrated with anything more than it’s acceptable, you do rock. And I don’t mean when you’ve achieved great things, when you have this and that or when you jump out of bed in the morning because you just love life so much. You rock when you don’t have any particular reason to jump up and down, but still get up normally. You rock when things you wish for aren’t necessarily there, but you keep feeling they are on their way. You rock, when you realize there’s nothing wrong with days being flat every once in a while.
If you rock, you’ll get your tidal wave, no worries …
Sometimes you do not want to be that person. And really you’re not. Just sometimes … you want the time to pick up speed as you go through life just in order to have the feeling of it catching up with you. But can it really? Can time catch up with you? Do you ever catch up with time? Is it even remotely possible to go the same pace?
Other times there’s tears that pick up speed and catch up with you. Tears that haven’t done so in a really long time. You wonder what gave them speed in the first place, but can’t find an answer. Is it me? Is it someone else? Or is it just that “sometimes” concept that you just can’t escape. Because there’s a “sometimes” to everything in life, to all the small and big things and events. There’s nothing wrong with that picture. Without one of the “sometimes” or one the colors, the picture just wouldn’t be the same and might just happen to be dull.
Do you always know why you cry?
Do tears always catch up with you or do they catch you by surprise?
I don’t remember when was the last time I cried. Unless rain drops on my face count as well. Because if they do, I cried tonight. My whole body cried. And I was happy.
I had a plush toy. I can’t put my finger on the exact time and occasion I got it. I know it was either a gift or it was just my interpretation of it as a gift. I know I didn’t buy it myself. I never buy plush toys. I just like them if they’re plushy enough. So about this toy … He doesn’t have a name. It might as well be a female. But plush toys are mostly stripped of social tags and you can’t really tell which gender it belongs to. Unless it’s wearing a skirt. Err … no, that fails recognition as well. It could be transgender.
Anywho … I’m not really a girl who attaches to things (at least not many). Not even people. I don’t feel like I belong to anyone or anything and there’s noone whom I claim to be mine or possess. Possession? Eh, a topic on its own. So every night I’d find this toy laying on my pillow. Or somewhere under a pile of sheets. It is there for me. I take care of her. Him. When I lay down, I look for it (Yes! It!), bring it closer to my heart, make some special room and put my arms around it. Somehow I know it prefers laying on my left side. And also beacuse I wanted to protect it from falling off my bed in the night, which could happen if it was on the right side. Needless to say I’d tuck it under a blanket every morning. Depending on how cold it was that day. Until the next evening, we’d give each other peace and quiet. I knew it was there for me, I knew it would be happy when I’d hold it, squeeze it.
Then came my birthday. I was gifted with another plush toy. This one was yet new and rather mysterious. I immediately liked some small details on it. Especiallly those that only I noticed. Within a couple of days this toy got itself some special attention. And it might just happen it will keep receiving it. But I still have the ‘old’ one. It’s still there. I still hold it close to my heart.
Only when people don’t have enough love and attention to give to others, they need to give up something in order to receive another thing. But if you have enough for both, for all, for everything plushy, then giving something up is simply contradictory. There’s this concept called “don’t put a label on it”. Don’t limit yourself, unless you feel the need to do so. We get restricted on a daily basis just so that the world could turn around at a normal pace for most people. And in the end … does the world really turn the way you like it? Is it worth the sacrifice? If it’s not – find your own galaxy, a solar system if you wish, and let the stars fall for you only. Eh, this is corny.
My eyes are greener now than they were in the morning.
It’s actually not a full moon tonight. I know your logical thinking suggests that. No. I just like it as a title. But the moon is here. It’s flashing right at me. Sitting on my balcony, my skin smells like softness and honey. There was some music in the back before, but isn’t playing any more. Somehow quietness sounds better. I can hear crickets rehearsing. I know they’re just rehearsing because this isn’t their best so far. They can do better.
There’s one bedroom light close-to-across this balcony. No other, though. Bliss.
I do like the green color on this photo. So pure.
Is there even such a thing as a full moon? Moon full of what? Don’t have an answer to this one? Exactly. Full of human crap theories to make us feel better. Why do you have to understand the world in order to give meaning to it? Let it go.
I like it when I’m not sleepy at this time of … night. This … all being so quiet … it reminds me of winter. When the snow covers it all and you can’t hear footsteps. Magnificent.
I don’t like my desktop wallpaper. But I’m not changing it.
It’s 0:23 a.m. of tomorrow.
Yup, the orchestra is getting bigger by the minute.
That bedroom light across is still on. I wonder why.
For a geek to go on a vacation … (scratch, scratch behind my right ear) … well, it is a special time. Special time requires special preparation. Why, you ask? But of course we are talking about going offline. Yes, that does happen.
Let’s make something clear. I love the fact that I’ll be away from the web for a week. That is, because I know it will wait for me and I’ll be back in no time. The one week without it … well, I call that ‘building expectations’.
But these smart phones nowadays just ruin everything. They have to ruin the picture perfect. They really do. And here’s why: you can freakin’ check your e-mail and surf the web as if going offline never happened! Why? WHY?? Who on earth thought of that!? Let’s blame the developers, not my weakness for the web. Never my weakness.
The offline time is thus similar to gasping for air. Thank goodness I’m an amphibian. I’ll take salty water, thank you very much.
Do you ever make eye contact? The real deal? Doesn’t have to be flirtation to call it the real deal eye contact. That’s just one of many kinds. Forget about the ones you have to make. Forget about the ones that give you chills and thrills. It’s about a strange kind of eye contact. One you actually don’t find strange. Strange, huh?
You slowly stroll down a crowded street and look into people’s eyes. Not for long (you don’t want to freak them out), just a quick look into their soul (sheesh, this sounds as if they’re see through). Some look back, some try to tell you a story, others just give the story away because it’s so obvious. Some look away, others wear sunglasses.
She’s thinking about him. (oh, please)
He’s thinking about what to tell his parents. (teenagers …)
She’s worrying about a job. (really? that’s so important?)
She’s pretending to listen. (Ego)
He’s not here, wandering in his mind, his eyes are empty. (I want to know more.)
They all have one thing in common. They’re thinking. Their mind is all caught up in processing. Tragedy.
You read the stories, you make them up as you go, you observe the facial expression, the head turning and the lips moving. You can’t hear a thing they’re saying because you have your own little world. Music in your ears. You keep going. You take it all in. Float right through that crowd. But it was all but the crowd to you. You read each and every one of them. They might think they’re lost and hard to spot. But at the same time they wish badly to be noticed by the others. Anybody? Somebody!! But how? How could they be noticed? Nobody freakin’ reads other’s stories! They’re so wound up with their own, they don’t notice any other. I guess that’s why people are happy to see a stranger’s soft and curious look. They also take it in. Yeah, they take the story reading.
Man, I could write a book on this one. Not really.
