Ramblings from the Mind’s Eye

May 19, 1997  Monday

Freedom.  That is a good way to describe it.  Freedom not only from school, but from a great deal of stress, for school was stress.  Stress with so many forms and faces.  Sure, school is hard for everyone, and to study hard is stress as well, but if you study you are assured of doing well–right?  There are times I will try so hard, and then be let down because the grade didn’t equal the effort.

Also, rarely am I ever me.  Sure, in public I act the way I want to, but very rarely 100% act free.  Everyone knows what I mean: to laugh at a joke to you didn’t get is a prime example at the most basic level.  Yes, I do act, but the act me?  Sometimes it doesn’t feel like me.  Like I said Sunday night, people think I set myself up unknowingly.  Wrong.  Most of the time it is completely intentional.  Sometimes I like to laugh at myself, but don’t most people?  It’s scary how much material I can come up with, though… Another joke.  Where was I?

I am happy school is out, but is far from over.  It almost feels like I’m going to Macomb in a few days.  I’m not worried about making friends there, or anything like that, but I am tentative on simply relying on my life skills (now you’re getting the picture).  I have a terrible memory, and that is half my problem.  Some things just seem to be blacked out from memory.  Funny how much of these instances involve keys… If I can just stay half-way organized, I’ll be fine.  Yet, that’s the real trick, isn’t it?

After getting up nearly to the tune of the noon whistle, I settled down to write the newest entry, about last night.  Sidney may be unwilling to share her own views presently, which is fine, but should the lines be down in both directions?  After that, I cleaned my room and rented Father of the Bride Part II, and The Truth About Cats and Dogs.  Here’s an except from a scene.  Roll ’em.

Guy: “I love your eyes.  When they fix on mine they burn into me and I forget what I was about to say.  …You know, maybe I am rushing things–no.  I’m not.  I love you because  I can’t stop thinking about you for one second.”

Girl: And because you’re so beautiful.  You forgot to say, ‘I love you because you’re so beautiful.'”

Guy: “No, I didn’t.  I mean, yes, she is, but that isn’t why I love her.  I love her for who she is.  And, if she weren’t, it wouldn’t matter.”

Girl: “Of course it does.  I always does.”

Guy: “What?  What are you talking about?  Look, you know how a really attractive person, if you don’t like them, can become more and more ugly?  Whereas, someone you wouldn’t have ever noticed, that you wouldn’t have looked at more than once–if you love them, they’re the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.  All you want is to with them.  It doesn’t matter what they look like.”

What I enjoyed most about today was the beautiful silence. Sweet silence.  I suppose I speak so little because at home Mom and Nicole speak so much, usually to each other.  It isn’t that they talk; it’s more about what they speak of.  In many instances the subjects have little relevance.  Perhaps because of this, I say things, mostly, when it has some measure of importance.  Also, maybe it isn’t the talking that is my problem, but the people themselves.  With nothing against Mom or Nicole, they aren’t always the most interesting conversationalists.  For instance, a person like Sidney can most almost anything seem interesting.  Some people can just do that.  It’s the same with comedians.  Some can add that perfect twist to their voice, while others couldn’t tell a knock-knock to save their lives.  I think I could be a good conversationalist…if I had something to say (or just get to type it out).  I don’t think, at this point, I have lived enough; my subjects and point of view is too centered.  Talking but not come naturally now, as it did when I was little.  Geez, back then everyone wanted me to take a break for five minutes.  Dad once offered a quarter to me if I could be silent for one minute.  Within twenty seconds, I burst out, “I can’t do it!”  For me to talk, now, I have to be comfortable; it helps to know the person for a while.  And I do better with less people than more.  I love being one-on-one with people.  That is my comfort zone.

I have yet again wandered to the land of strange and odd subjects, and I must be forgiven.  My baseball career is in its twilight.  Unless we win Tuesday, I went to my last practice today.  I got blinded by the sun in right and was hit by the incoming pop-fly.  I’m alright, trust me.  I’m alright, trust me.

I called Sidney a while ago, to tell her the time for Regionals, as she asked in passing.  She still didn’t good too good, and didn’t say a lot.  She said she could make to tomorrow.

Dang.  As I write this, “You Are So Beautiful” has started to play on the radio.  Why do they want to listen to sad songs, and will my mind ever be able to rest?  The world isn’t letting me forget quietly.  If only we were equipped with gizmos that could turn feelings on and off.  As far as I know, nothing like that’s in the open market.

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One Comment Add yours

  1. maycee83 says:

    There is some veiled foreshadowing here to be sure, in the section meditating on what makes a good conversationalist: travel, experiences, meeting a wide range of people. It’s so interesting to track the web of reocurring themes weaved throughout your journal, and made apparent in fleeting glimpses like these….Another read that’s sad but hopeful in its wishes for alternative realities.

    Like

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