Here I sit, two guitars to my rear and flute in lap, staring into the plastic and lifeless eyes of Mr. Edgar Allan Poe as I type the symphonies my life has composed once more.
So those of you who actually read and follow this nonsensical shite, listen up.
College is an excellent diversion. I have found myself searching for the melancholy because it hasn't been handed to me on a silver platter, as I am accustomed to. Rephrase: nothing here is wrong; if I want anything to be wrong I have to find it myself.
That's a silly thing to say.
I've realized that I require myself, for better or for worse, to be fighting some sort of internal battle constantly because that is how I thrive. There is most likely a technical term for that, but since the title escapes me I'll assume this one: I'm a girl posessed, for lack of a better phrase. At home, I fight. Here, I'm feeling a touch empty because there's nothing deep to conquer; no demons to will away or tears to dry.
It rocks. It's strange.
I owe it all to Chemistry. I owe it all to Physics. I owe it all to Calculus.
I owe it all to Miss Monroy, Miss Soronen, Miss Butler, Mr Przytulski.
I owe it all to Miss Fedewa, Miss Sierzega, Miss Shipman.
I owe it all to diversion.
Diversion is here in college; diversion is what I thought I wanted. Now I have it, and I wonder where the sorrow went. It isn't negative now, it's just different. In a previous existence where there would always be some dark matter to keep at bay, it's strange to plunge into a place where such things are minimal or absent.
It's wonderful, but what is the value of a fighting spirit with nothing to fight? Or, perhaps, it is only the theatrical spirit that has convinced itself that it is a fighting spirit. Either way, college is diverting; diversion is confusion.
I wonder how it got to be 1AM so quickly.