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Hope... I've been thinking a lot about love lately. And not even love, as the emotion, but more along the lines of Love, and where she's gone. I've always had the odd fancy of attaching a personality and character to that which has none, like Love and Luck but that's essentially useless now isn't it? It doesn't really serve much of a purpose other than to delude myself into believing that maybe, just maybe, if I can somehow court her properly, say the right things, offer the right gifts, she'll come around and smile down upon me but that's naught but a fallacy isn't it? Animism is close to what it's called, it's the attachment of a personality and character to that which has none. In more ancient and less knowledgable times, this was more done to attach a meaning to that earthquake that killed 15 people in the village or to hope to appease that horrible volcano that erupted and killed the baby goat that you loved so much. This is, at it's heart, a false belief. The earth has no soul. The volcano doesn't really WANT virgins to be tossed into its caldera and most of all, Love and Luck are not shadowy, half seen women that drift in and out of my life as they please. It's odd sometimes thinking like this. With regards to love, more than anything else, sometimes... At night, when I'm in my bed in a dark room about to drift off to sleep, love is there for me. I can see it, and it seems almost real enough to touch; real enough to pull closely around me like a warm blanket and I take real, physical comfort in this fact. Then in the mornings and days, especially ones such as these with nothing but grey drizzling rain all throughout the day, it seems far...far enough that I can't help but wonder if it's really there at all. If perhaps, it was nothing but the pleasant delusions of a feverish mind, hoping against hope that there's really something there to touch, to feel, to capture. I feel afraid at those times, just a little. You can't outrun depression and the loss of hope. It trails alongside you, pacing you, your ever faithful shadow, ready to take you back in when you've grown tired enough of running and chasing after something that you only hope exists. Do I sound depressed? Yes, a little. The mood does tend to come and go, hitting me after an unpleasant event sometimes, and at other times, simply hitting for no particular reason at all. As if I wake up, look out at the steel grey sky and a part of me thinks, "oh look, today's the PERFECT day to be depressed, let's do it!" Do I sound a bit emo? I wouldn't really say so. Being emo (to me) is more along the lines of NEVER being happy and hurting yourself because "iT fEeLs BeTTAr DeN WuTz In mY HaRt!" I haven't hit that point yet...not nearly. Well...then again, if you consider all of the things that I HAVE written about how I feel and the desire (not acted upon) to drink to leave it all behind if only for a few hours as being emo, then I suppose I am, a bit. ...Or a lot >.> All I am, really, is tired. Not just physically tired, though I'd be a liar if I said that had nothing at all to do with it, but just tired. Exhausted even. I blame the books really. The speaker of Fight Club who talks of how decadant the world has become...Felix in Steakley's Armor who doesn't want to live but stubbornly refuses to die, the inevitability of change in Moran's The Ring and above, behind and throughout all of them, the nihilisitic story of Jane and her intertwined fate with Melanchthon and Swanwick's The Iron Dragon's Daughter. They make for some pretty depressing readings. At the same time...though I may feel like crap, and though I may feel like I've lost all hope and am wondering why I bother going through the motions...you all know that this will pass. A day or two, a week or two, and this little episode will be nothing but a blurry bad memory. You've seen it happen before, and in all honesty, will likely see it happen again if you stick around. There's no real need to walk on eggshells around me as I'm not broken and bleeding, just tired and drained. You all know exactly what this is, and if you don't, I'm about to tell you. This is temporary. Don't we all have the right to feel sorry for ourselves now and again? |