This blog has been a long time coming. A lot of it has been building up in my head and heart for the last 24 hours or so - or maybe it was some final straw to force me to do something about it. This also serves as an outlet to get some things off of my chest without directly putting a burden on my friends. After all, you don't HAVE to read this.
Renoir - Luncheon of the Boating Party
Look at it closely. It's a perfect personification of my life. It always has been. Are Renoir and myself the only two people that have walked this earth who feel this way? I'm reminded everyday of how different I really am. This painting hangs in my living room. It doesn't depress me, so it's not bad Feng Shui or self-destructive. In a weird way, it comforts me. It makes me feel understood.
Jimi Hendrix.
When I was younger (pre-college), I used to listen to a lot of Jimi Hendrix. Recently, a couple of artists have covered one of my favorite songs, Bold as Love. Life has definitely happened since the last time I listened to it and I have a new-found appreciation for the lyrics. I think my obsessive-compulsive nature has caused me to overplay the song (by most standards). However, for some reason, it's really hitting home this week.
Loose ends.
A few months ago, I saw a friend that I hadn't seen in a while. Circumstances (actually, another person) that particular evening really made our reunion unpleasant and ackward. Though out of my control, I felt really bad about the situation that dampered the evening. I ran into her this past weekend. We both apologized (though neither of us were at fault) and cleared the air. It's funny how things resolve themselves when the time is right. It shouldn't have happened any sooner. I had to let go of some other feelings before I was ready to hear what she had to say.
Poetry.
Although I am the worst poet to ever roam this earth, I like to convey my thoughts and feelings in a more artistic form. I guess it makes me feel more intelligent due to my normal, everyday lack of eloquence. Actually, to even use the word, "poet" for what I write is injustice to its existence. Last month, I came across a poem that I had written a LONG time ago. It's not addressed to anyone in particular. Okay, it is - but I have no idea who that person is. I've recently started to add to it - I don't know if it's inspiration or boredom. Someday I will be able to finish it. And someday (if the day ever comes) I will get to read it aloud and share it. Why does it make this blog? I guess because of how much it means to me and the sheer anxiety and suspense that is included with keeping it the only secret that I have.
Fatigue.
I need a vacation. Until I am able to relax, I have a feeling that the intoxicating effects of working like crazy are going to manifest themselves in blogs like this.
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