Where’s A Wishing Fountain When You Need One?


Image by Noel C. Hankamer via Flickr

You know, I’m going to wake up at 3:45AM and get ready for work tomorrow. But I want awfully to write, I feel as though I have something to say.

I wish human beings were not so complex, I wish I could be happy spending time with my mother or speaking to Heather or seeing Matthew (aka – Chase) and have the moment be simple. Cut and dry. I wish nothing bothered me, so I could be happy and people could be happy with me. I wish I never got angry or annoyed, people seem so terrible when they’re angry or annoyed. How wonderful it would be to only ever be content and accepting of circumstances. How easy it is to like who I am when I am content, when I’m rational, aware.

I wish I were simple. But sometimes (too, too often) I do and say things that don’t even make sense to me. I want to be fair and understanding but my impulse is always to judge and assume. I’m much better than I could and used to be, but this should not be enough. I don’t feel like it should be, anyway. Perhaps I’m wrong about everything, how am I to know until the future in retrospection of today?

I’ve been wondering things often that don’t make sense, and I wish I had someone to ask. There is a constant, nagging feeling that there is an absence in my life that should be filled. Like a missing piece of a puzzle.

Heather has changed a lot in the past year – she’s still who she has always been in person, but her words lately have evidenced outside influences on her phrasing and reactions. So much is happening in her life, that I don’t feel the genuine interest that used to be present when I would bring up current events in my life. I’ve never felt lonely before, not really, not until recently.

You know when a child stumbles and falls, how, as soon as the child stands they know immediately what face to look for to run to? I feel as though I’m looking for a face that does not exist. A person with no name or form. Heather will always be my Watson, my closest friend, the absence I feel is apart from her presence. Unrelated.

My last few posts have had a rather negative edge, when truthfully my days are much brighter due to my unofficial happiness experiment. It’s just moments such as these, after a day such as this, that has me writing in a manner such as that.

Now, I should certainly sleep, as I feel whatever was pestering my subconscious has made itself known.




An Odd Sort Of Loneliness


Image by julietteculver via Flickr

Have you ever written, knowing from the start that the words have nowhere to go? You’ve created no endgame, there is no goal or point or even a mental outline. No lessons to describe because as far as you know you haven’t learned a thing.

I suppose I simply feel like writing tonight – I had a bit of an idea in my head, several really, I even thought of an opening sentence that would have been a tad interesting (or at least intriguing enough to keep someone reading a bit longer…)

Often lately I find that, typically in the dead of night I have a sudden need to talk to somebody – to start a conversation with no intent of leading it anywhere, just talking to talk and hear their voice. I love listening to people talk, I like falling asleep with the television on downstairs because I enjoy listening to people on the news discuss trivial and monumental things. Sometimes I wish I could just call Olga or Heather at two ‘o clock in the morning, because I want to listen to someone talk, and talk to them. It’s a really a bizarre sort of loneliness, when you think about it. And it very typically comes about in the wee small hours when I’m most alone – which is odd, usually when it’s very late I enjoy solitude because the world seems so silent and peaceful. But even now I simply want to talk to somebody. For a moment I could wish that this was for some poetic reason – perhaps the need to feel a human connection through verbal discussion while I contemplate my loneliness in the silent hours of chaotic days.

No, though.

I just want to talk to someone sometimes – just because.




Some human beings live to be 100 – and others survive mere hours after their emergence into the world. In either and any case, the people that love them the most will always say that they died young. Age has never been a factor accounted for in the cases of the old, and is the only thing considered in the cases of the young.

Pocket watch, savonette-type.

Image via Wikipedia

When I die young, I hope I’m remembered for what I did, not what I could have done. Suppose I die young at 20, or 50, or 80 – I hope time is not considered. Because while character is reflected in actions, it’s also reflected in presence. (I mean that one should be remembered by the impression they leave on others.) Perhaps I’m just an awfully overemotional person (who am I kidding? I am just an awfully overemotional person,) but a day doesn’t go by that I don’t wonder how I affect other people.

What on earth defines character? If reality is perception and perception varies with each and every individual (we don’t even have any reasonable way of knowing that we feel the same emotions in the same way as other people – we have only vague descriptions we give each other to describe the pain of losing someone or the joy of discovery,) then does not character vary – the essence of character, that is? Is it a tad useless to seek out traits of honorability when honorability cannot be universally defined? Yes, I see that the questions are absurd, and it takes only a few moments to answer them. But I still ask them anyway because they seem to me to be worth asking. It seems like people forget to ask – or otherwise never wanted to in the first place. I suppose then I should wonder what sort of person would ask absurd questions like that if I’m asking them. Questions that seem to have answers before I’ve finished writing the last word.

I know it’s absurd to sometimes feel an inherent need to teach people when I have little to teach, and to seek out something with no name, shape or purpose. Often I feel the same way as I did when I wrote a small while ago, “I suppose I’m looking for something that I will know when I see it.” A sense of belonging in a moment, of certainty that one isn’t aimlessly wandering throughout space.

And, that would be my ramble of the week.


Yesterday I had class at The Center. I was certain that Chase wasn’t going to show up, but several minutes after class started a door at the back of the classroom creaked open. He poked his head inside and a gust of cold air took advantage of the opening and swept through the room. I knew instantly it was him by the shade of his caramel hair in my peripheral, confirmed upon my glancing over.  His expression was one of a child whose hand was just caught in the cookie jar as he looked to Teacher Madame – he’s rarely that late to class. After he stepped inside he took a seat next to Marshall, who sat directly behind me to the left (I decided to take one of the seats in the front.) Class went by rather quickly, and Teacher Madame and I ended up talking after class for a few minutes, and directly after the mutual discovery that we’re more alike than previously believed, she lent me a couple of anatomy and physiology books she had purchased recently. I stepped outside of the building, and upon realizing on the walk to the center’s cafe how much time I had spent talking to Teacher Madame, I found myself thinking Well, you’ve wasted time you could have used elsewhere. But when I thought for a moment, I quickly snapped back, No, I didn’t. Just because I wasn’t talking to Chase doesn’t mean I’ve wasted time – how on earth was it wasted, anyway?

I stepped inside and glanced to my right to see Chase sitting at a table by the window, his laptop sat open, fingers poised at the keys. He looked at me for a moment before looking down at the screen. I walked into the restroom and checked my appearance. Tired, certainly. I had woken up early again to spend more time getting ready – three hours spent trying to look beautiful so any pretty I managed could be displayed for ten minutes before I had to leave for work and he for economics.

Thing to be happy about… I realized I couldn’t work up anything specific (it’s routine now that everyday I think of something to be happy about), so I thought simply, today will be a good day.

I ran my hands under hot water for a few moments, the temperature was colder than is comfortable inside the cafe and I was nearly shivering. Instead of wearing one of my usual trench coats or a thick blazer with my grey slacks I had on a forest-green Ralph-Lauren hoodie and (you might not believe me) jeans. I have not worn jeans in public for, bother, I can’t even recall the last time. But the hoodie and maroon-red blouse were much more flattering to my figure than a boxy blazer, same goes for the jeans. I haven’t tried to look pretty for anyone in a while, but the sudden change in appearance seemed natural. I even bought new make-up and whipped out my new Chi flat-iron (which is rather handy for styling natural-looking waves…ahem…) for no other reason than to look better on Wednesdays. I could almost laugh at the utter oddness of it, I wonder what he would think if he knew all of the trouble that goes into those ten minutes.

After I dried my hands and stepped out I saw Claire behind the counter in her usual barista attire.

“Claire!” I walked over to the counter and saw Chase suddenly look up, “How you be?”

She smiled broadly and nodded, “I be good, girl! How you be?”

“Great, thank you very much.”

I saw a friend of mine step outside of study hall and I started speaking with her, and then Claire again. I was aware of every move Chase made, when he shifted in his seat or turned a page in the book he had out and glanced up for a moment, but I didn’t want to stop talking to Claire or Marie (my friend from study hall.) When I would think back on it later, I would be equal parts happy and regretful.

While I was talking to Marie, I saw Chase start putting away his things, looking up once or twice and finally stepping outside and walking to his class. I was going to come up with something, and say that I was going to wait for my mom to pull up outside (so I could meet him at the door), but Marie was in the midst of a sentence and it would have been rude to suddenly leave. My time for the week was up.

When my mother pulled up I realized I hadn’t changed for work yet, so I ran inside the bathroom and changed into my grey slacks and a long-sleeved black shirt with one of my pocket watches around my neck.

“Claire!” I ran out of the bathroom and grabbed my scarf and grey knit cardigan. “I am in a dilemma!”

She ran over, completely baffled.

“Alight,” I said, putting on the cardigan, “I need help for what to wear to work. Should I wear this, or no cardigan and just a scarf?” She had me try a couple different looks before settling on the scarf.

“Thank you very much, Madame!” I said as I stuffed my items into my bookbag and headed out. I scanned the campus for any clues as to what building Chase’s class might be in.

For a moment I felt disappointed, the next ten minutes wouldn’t arrive for seven days.

“How was class?” Mom asked as I got into the Fit.

“It was alright.” I said, buckling in and looking over at her, “Nothing new.”