So I’m in one of those really strange moods, the kind where I was the originator of a thread with some friends on Facebook and now can’t stand the 20394023852083502384 replies it’s generating. This is irritating. And I can’t quite describe my frustration. Hmm.
I guess I’m just in that I-would-like-to-be-alone-please moods, but I don’t want to be in my room right now, nor do I want to be sleeping. which I definitely should be. I have class at nine tomorrow, which means I have to get up at seven-thirty. That all translates to six hours and twenty minutes of sleep if I fall asleep right this second. Make that six hours and nineteen minutes.
I just don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to talk. I don’t really know what I want right now. I think to just be. I just want to be. And I think, too, I’m in that mood that wants to think thoughts of profundity. I often get that way. I realized about a month before I left for college that what I really wanted to be was an intellectual thinker, like Rousseau or Voltaire or Jefferson. I want to examine the whys and wherefores of life, love, and faith.
I think it’s this that attracts me so much to writing and music. You can muse on this in writing, in music. You can explore the nuances, themes, and emotions of life through the words in the writing or the sway of the music. You find yourself on a plane of existence you wouldn’t have found without it. There’s something right about where you are at that point. You don’t understand it; no one does; you just subtly feel its rightness. I don’t know. Music has always moved me that way: lyrics and melody both. The lyrics, I suppose, are the writings to which I refer, and obviously, the melodies and harmonies the music. One of my favorite excerpts from a BarlowGirl song (and also my current Facebook status) is “Because a life that holds no meaning is like a day without the light.”
Just let that speak to you for a moment.
Moment over? Yeah, mine too. I just think about that, and how incredibly insightful it is. It’s statements like that that make me wish I could be an intellectual thinker for a living. Alas, no one pays for that. But I feel like you don’t find it anymore anyway. You know Abraham Lincoln was the last president to actually write his own speeches? And look at their eloquence. I will never get over how poignant the Gettysburg Address is, and it took, what, three minutes to deliver? It’s only ten sentences long. Look it up somewhere, and if you’re not moved by at least one phrase there, you don’t know a single ounce of rhetoric to save your life. I apologize for that outburst–except not really. woeijgakcjafkskjdnfa. I should go to bed and stop rambling, but it’s so much fun. And true to my English geek-ness, I am having short spurts of syntax analysis as I write this post. If Dr. Brouwer hadn’t gone over it today in class, I very likely wouldn’t be.
But as I said, I should probably go to bed. I have already been tired enough all day. It’s not a good idea to add to the tiredness by staying up to 1:21 in the morning.
Took care of that one already.
Ahhhh. Okay, I’m going to bed for real now. At least, I think. ;]