:: Sunday, December 05, 2004 ::

I just finished writing my last big term paper. Not to suggest that it was any good, but my topic got me to thinking. Contradictions. The ways we can believe two opposing facts and even spout them unaware. The conflicts and the dichotomies and the juxtapositions and all those other multisyllabic 'university' words that here apply.

Last week I wanted to post about the concept of wonder. My prof noted in class how the average person doesn't pay attention to a crow; he wondered, when was the last time anyone really looked at a crow and really considered how amazing they are? It was a rhetorical question, to illustrate the average person's belief that crows are nothing more than pests with unpleasant songs. But I was diverted, because I consider the amazingness of crows constantly. It reminded me of all the times I've stupidly walked down a sidewalk, crying, because of the sheer awesomeness of a swarm of mosquitos in the sun, or a bright pink rose blossom on an otherwise bare rosebush in December, or some other detail that often goes unappreciated. The way my professor assumed I wouldn't made me realize that's one of the things I really like about myself: my ability to appreciate the tiny details.

So, that nauseating American Beauty-esque moment had barely passed before a domino effect of this and that and the other occurred, which made me tired and unreasonable and had me crying on greyhound busses and feeling a general exhaustion with life, and with people, and made me want to sit inside my house in a ball, knitting and playing my guitar and generally just not speaking to anyone. So, this youthful sort of joy of life was immediately replaced with a bitterness and cynicism far beyond my years.

But replaced isn't really the right word, because even sitting in my house, in a grumpy ball, I still wonder at the shade of green in my yarn, and how it shifts from evergreen to pine to almost yellow and back again, and the softness of it against my neck, and the amazingness of my hot tea, and the squishyness of my pillow, and...

So perhaps my youthful wonder and aged cynicism balance out together into an average 21 year old?

And there are more contradictions, and many other things I keep meaning to post about, but it seems my memory is a sieve lately, and now that I'm here, I've completely forgotten. Ah, so it is.

I feel like I've posted this same post before. Likely, I have. How very postmodern of me. I hope I at least said it more interestingly this time...


~song~ Bruce Springsteen - Streets of Philidelphia

:: Katy 3:24 a.m. [+] :: ::