"This is a world of dreams and reverie..."

Hello.

I am in such a strange mood tonight.  I don't really know why.  I was so happy this afternoon... Maybe because for once I got enough sleep at night.  I'm too clumsy to dance, and walking is too slow, so I skipped everywhere.  Literally.  And now I find myself rather... what shall we say... pensive.  Like the air before a storm.  Right now I feel as though I ought to go out on the roof and sit in the rain and be very morbid indeed, or laugh and run in a field and think of absolutely nothing at all.  You know how in a cheesy part of a movie sometimes there will be a time when the main character walks into a public place full of people, and all of a sudden, there is no sound.  It's like they are there, but they don't see or hear anything.  Well that's sort of how I feel.  Rather distant from everything, lost and obsessed in the realm of my own thought.  I think everybody has a time when they feel a little lonely... and I'm feeling a little of that right now.  Perhaps because I yearn for the company of somebody to talk to.  Or somebody who wouldn't talk, but who would just sit and enjoy the abstract-ness of it all.  Somehow I feel like there would be a conversation in our heads - one we wouldn't need to voice. Haha. This sounds so strange!

For tonight, my companions have been G.K. Chesterton (of course), and C.S. Lewis and Arthur Pink.  Don't get me wrong, I love them all very much, but there's something so cheerless about the fact that they're all dead. I can't read the wonderful things they've written, and then ask them: "Why did you say this?  What do you mean by this?  Can we talk about this because I absolutely love the way you've worded that?!"

Sometimes I think that I shut myself in my own little thoughtful world way too much.  I think that talking to people about my thoughts, or even about the passions that sometimes I want to voice about the green mist that hangs on the trees, or the spring rain, or Chopin won't interest people the same way like it interests me.  I could go on and on, but I don't want to go on to someone who doesn't feel as deeply about it as I do, and because of that, I'm afraid to tell anybody.

People are interesting, aren't they?

I bottle things up way too much.  This blog is such a help with that, but there's always things that you shouldn't post on blogs.  It causes too much trouble.

I love people.  I love talking to people, but when people say: "Enough about me! What about you?" I'll immediately want to talk about the red stripes in the curtain.  Or I'll say something like: "Oh, I've been well. I did such and such a thing and will do such and such a thing and I've been reading and writing etc."  But that's all I'll say, and they seem satisfied which makes me very dissatisfied because I want to say so much more.  I think: "When I look around at the life I live, I wouldn't notice much change, even if there has been significant change.  I live so much in my thought, that there is where I find every change and every progression.  Everything I see, hear, smell, feel... it is turned over in this world of thought.  It is analyzed, torn apart and applied to various things, and fed by perhaps a saying of some great thinker or writer.  And yet, when I talk to people, I am suddenly jerked out of that world into another reality, and I hardly know what to do with myself."  So I say stupid stuff like: "Yeah, life is good...." when I would rather say:

"I absolutely love the stars.  Can you imagine a sky without stars?  A sky without stars would be like a song that lacks melody.  Stars add so much to the world, and yet we take them for granted every day.  Each of them is a burning globe in space, and to us they seem like harmless little butterflies.  I want to look at the stars all the time.  And the moon! Look, there he sits like an emperor on his silver throne! His light may be pale, but his milky white face with what looks like shadows makes up for it.  The moon is like a king, and the stars are his subjects.  The sky is his land.  He does not concern himself with the earth.  He and the stars spin a beautiful melody, one that is too beautiful for the human ear to hear.  It's intangible, it's unheard but they don't make it for us. Perhaps that's why they don't care whether or not we hear it.  I really am for a life where one sleeps during the day, and stays awake at night.  Night is the time to be awake.  And yet... it is the time to be asleep.  Must we sleep when so much beauty lies awake?"

I would much rather say something like that.  Because that is what I'm thinking.  Sometimes I really do think silly stuff, like who invented the name of a cleaning product, and what gave them the inspiration for that name. Who were they, and where were they. I do wonder things like that, and it's extremely odd.

But I don't say things like what I said up there.  I never do that.  Why? I'm not sure.  I can never bring myself to do it when I most want to. I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or not? Ah well.

Anyways, that's my ramble for the evening.  If you got to the end, I'm impressed. I imagine it was somewhat boring, and I'm sorry.  I'm also sorry that it was long.  I didn't mean to write such a long thing, but it felt good to get something out for once. :-)