Look Around Me

9 09 2009

I should like to impart to you something of GREAT INTEREST to me.  I have written a handful of potential posts to my blarg of late that I get halfway through, or finish, or only title, but mostly get halfway through, and realize that I have to stop, save, and not publish (which I still think is too strong a word for posting a vanity).

It hasn’t escaped me that the reason for this is that I set out to make something of a point about living, or thinking, or something that should follow a certain logical set of parameters, and at some point, I realize that I’m only making a case against the rationality I’m meaning to forward.  If that doesn’t make any sense, it’s not a surprise:  it turns out that I’m feeling more things than I sometimes do, and in working to explain the reasons behind the rightness of feeling as I do, I only force myself to recognize that my feelings don’t all make logical sense.  It’s quite a thing.

Tonight I found myself trying to defend my impatience for the coming of a particular desired event by saying that you’re not living in the NOW if you’re waiting around for something that you want.  I’m not kidding.  That was the crux upon which the argument was laid.  The sensible part of my brain kicked over a stack of dishes in the room in which it is gagged and bound, jarring me from my reverie.  Idiot, it transmitted, you have space-time limitations, and daydreaming a scenario in which you’re a given number of hours closer to your moment of interest is what’s actually preventing you from living in the NOW.

I glanced around, and I was a dude sitting at an illuminated keyboard.

The point is that something is going to happen, and I don’t want to wait to figure out what.  It’s like spending a week in Minneapolis waiting to go to the Mall of America!  It’ll probably happen, though, and it’ll probably be lively and lovely.  I’m not looking a gift future in the mouth here, but I’m guessing it’ll be as good as the Christmas when I got that new muffler!  That really stacked up.




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