I've been thinking about what I want to say in this post for about a week. This is unusual for me--normally I just sit down and type for about an hour and call it good. Don't make the mistake of thinking that my longer than usual musing time means this will be a post full of deep thoughts. In my younger years I went through a brief phase of writing down what I considered philosophical ideas, but happily for all of us, those will stay safely tucked away on my hard drive, only to be pulled out when my ego gets too big and I need reminding of my humble authorial origins. And by humble origins I mean the mildly psychotic drivel I once considered worthwhile. But I digress. The real reason this has taken me so long to write is that my normal peaceful existence was interrupted by the arrival of my parents, jazzfest, the experience I had hoisting Janelle Monae into the air, the departure of my parents, the end of classes, numerous finals and thus an intensification of my never-ending struggle against procrastination, a new puppy, and clouds of flying termites*. Clearly I have been in no state to write! I can't say I'm in a much better state now, but there's really only so long you can put something off before you begin embarrassing yourself with your own lack of will. Anyway, I probably deserve a break--I've spent the last hour eating German chocolate cake and avoiding repainting the spots on the kitchen wall I destroyed with poster tape. It's been rough. What I've been trying to talk about for the last week and two paragraphs is how *Actually the clouds of flying termites are becoming a bit of a real issue. I guess their mating season came early this year--normally I'm gone by the time the locusts come, but no such luck this May. Anyway all the buildings on campus are being kept hermetically sealed so they don't get in and lay eggs everywhere, but it makes everybody stir crazy. They compensate for it by jacking up the air conditioner so high you have to bring a change of clothes everywhere you go--shorts and a t-shirt for outside (or a bee keeper suit, depending on how sensitive to bugs you are) and a snow suit. Because the library is actually Antarctica.
If you find the above confusing, that's because it is. Even to me, and I wrote it. It's half of a post I was working on earlier in May, right before my finals got over. Normally I'd just scrap it and start writing about whatever state I'm currently in, but I think it's hilarious that I can't remember what it was I'd been trying to talk about for the last week and two paragraphs. I have no clue. None whatsoever. Possibly a different person wrote that. I've been trying to remember for awhile now, but I got nothing on a name. What kind of idiot leaves a sentence hanging like that? Apparently this one. The endless battle of me against myself continues!
I know that about that time I was thinking about writing about jazzfest a lot because I really felt like talking about live music and how much I love it and how I always felt like crying and laughing when my favorite radio song was suddenly all around me in real time. I was feeling passionate about the subject at the time. Maybe that's the direction this truncated post was heading in but I sort of doubt it. I think maybe not even then did I know what I wanted to say, and that's why I stopped and saved it for another day. I should know by now that that never works, but then again it was finals and my brain and body were being pushed to the very limits of human capability so I wasn't reasoning normally. I mean if I didn't need therapy before, I definitely do now. Finals Week: The anti-gift that never stops terrorizing.
The problem with trying to go back and write on subjects that once captivated my imagination, or how I felt in the past, is that that was then and this is now. Normally when I'm excited about something I want to write about it. When something good or bad happens or even when I just feel strongly, my words are my outlet. I tell stories to express myself and process the world around me. That kids, is how I stay off the ledge. Unfortunately, life often moves faster than I can capture. Sometimes I am too far in the middle of the river to crawl out onto the bank and tell you what I see. Sometimes there are no natural places to dock the boat. And then, before you know it, you're six bends down the river and you barely remember what those first rapids looked like or how the air smelled a few mornings back and new stories and feelings have replaced the old ones.
The long and short of it is that I can't sink back into that place I was in at the beginning of this mess because I don't know how to relate to it anymore. I'm no longer that person. I can't remember. I missed the moment. And part of me says, you're an idiot, Hobs. But part of me says, well done you. Because that means I've been living enough in the present to be able to easily let go of the past. My two week long trip to Italy definitely helped that a long. But still.