I wish I could explain how I’m feeling, but I just can’t seem to find the words.
Promising start to a blog post, eh?
I am listening to a series of pieces for viola and piano by the violist Tina Louise Cayouette and pianist Mariane Patenaude. The music seems to know how I’m feeling.
It’s one of those days when I just don’t know.
Actually, all of my days are days when I just don’t know much of anything, but I don’t usually admit it.
The sky is blue today, for what seems like the first time in a month. I mean, I guess it’s been blue all this time, just behind clouds. And fog.
Maybe the sky is an introvert.
I know I am. I don’t like people parking next to me in parking lots. Or sitting in the booth next to me in a restaurant.
Sometimes, people tell me I can’t be an introvert, because I can speak. But I’m not afraid of being in front of an audience; it’s being around people that drains me. Which is, I believe, the functional definition of an introvert.
I don’t understand extroverts at all. They want to be up in my space. Or maybe out on MySpace. Either one is equally mystifying to me.
A moment unguarded, a pleasure unseen,
A thing that I started that’s never quite been:
An afternoon fallen, a vanishing trace
Of a hint of a time when my heart knew
A lot of people have been telling me I look tired recently, particularly when I take off my glasses.
So I try not to do that.
I wouldn’t say that I am tired, exactly. I would say I am tired vaguely.
“I feel sort of, you know…”
But so far, only the music knows.
They had some 1970s and 1980s music on at the gym this morning. Every song I heard reminded me… of something stupid I did when I was younger.
I have a seemingly endless supply of such memories.
However, lest you think I’ve left all that behind, I’ve done a number of memorably stupid things today, as well.
Maybe this music will remind me of today at some point in the future.
The term “afternoon” is an odd one.
It’s like, “dude, it’s not what time it is, it’s what time it’s after that matters.”
Kind of like being postmodern, post-structural, post haste, post facto, or post anything.
If I was to be defined as “post-anything”, I suppose it would be post-energetic.
I guess I could be optimistic and call myself “pre-energetic”. I’m not sure when that will happen, but I can pretend it will. I mean, who’ll know, right?
The photo affixed to this essay is of a place in Bavaria. I am not in Bavaria. However, the sky and foliage in it look something like that I can see out of my window, so I declared it “close enough”.
You see, I can not only not-say how I’m feeling, I can also not-show you what I’m seeing. Because that seems fitting.
And because I’m a terrible photographer. Or maybe I’m just “post-focused”.
The music is over, so I guess it’s time to stop writing.
Or maybe it’s time I faced the music, which is an odd expression, since sound is ambient and tends to be in all directions at once.
Kind of like my essays.