...or already overboard. You decide. Soundtrack: Queen's new single. "Say it's not true". Brand new guitars and vocals. Oh, it feels incredible, finally being able to put that in writing!
It's been a while. What am I doing? What have I been doing? I don't know, really. I think I'm still slightly worn-out after all the reading and working over the past few weeks, I'm not quite up to normal speed yet. Strangely or understandably exhausted, trying not to mind it too much. Don't feel like my energy's pumping back immediately, and all at once, to put it that way. I think it's more likely to take some further, massive efforts on my behalf. At the moment, however, I'm not worrying about it, and I'm definately not stressing it; I'm letting this recuperation take its time, providing myself with the necessary rest, peace, quiet, beer and fine looking gentlemen (on the telly, of course) to keep me company. Going to bed at twelve, getting up at ten, feeding my soul with British celeb gossip and LiveJournal stuff for breakfast, lunch and tea. Dinner, sorry. Yeah, I'm turning into a Brit, and I thoroughly enjoy it. Must remember to work on my accent, though. (Not a 100% complete, still abusing American slang too often.) Meanwhile, I'm also doodling with PhotoShop - and that's about it, with regard to creative musings - beyond this, I'm saying bye-bye to friends who are leaving home for Christmas, drinking coffee with neighbours, strolling up and down Bergen's beautifully lighted Christmas Streets, shopping for presents and having a great time. Quite simply. Relaxing, listening to good music, eating clementines. Mind you, The Doctor actually used a clementine to kill a Sycorax leader (really bad alien dude) once. Well, techinically, it was a satsuma - and it belonged to some boyfriend of Jackie Tyler's. Who is, for the ignorant reader's record, Rose Tyler's mother. Anyway, did its job. Speaking of which (meaning The Doctor), I've moreover been making some pretty fanciful wallpapers that I'll publish later on. For entertainment purposes solely. Including big and unavoidable spoilers for series four, beware. Although, I don't think anyone who's reading my blog will be capable of not knowing, by now, who's due to come back during the next season(s). I'm so looking forward to it, I can hardly breathe from all the "squee!" and thus, must abreact through artwork and manip-creations. To get my share of fulfilled expectations; wishes put in concrete terms. Realization is a somewhat different matter, left to be confirmed or to heavily disappoint us. Hoping for the former alternative, of course, but I have my sincere doubts. If I were to choose, everyone would be overjoyed and überhappy, running about holding hands and snogging under a mistletoe. Part of the season, I believe, and what it's doing to me. Please, be not scared, I'll probably feel "better" in January. No, I won't. I mean, I'll probably be less sentimental. But then again, I love sentimentality and floating around in the purple skies. Seventh heaven stuff, whilst one's feet are placed very much on the ground. I'm down to earth and weightlessly dreaming, and I can't help smiling at the wonderful combination. If that's the "problematic thing" about being a childish fangirl person, it'll remain a problem which I welcome - heartfully - and want no solutions to. If you ask me, honestly, what I've been up to lately, I guess I'd have to say that I've been contemplating less than usual. Considering fewer troubles, which I think has done me good. (Although, I feel I'm currently approaching a state of "back to normal", in the sense that this is becoming a far more philosophic post than intended.) Haven't allowed myself to dwell on any complications of the school-oriented, mental, ethical, argumentative (etc) kind; nor of any other, universal, worldy, outer-wordly dimensions. In all, it's been a week of rather restricted magnitude. As described earlier, in previous tale of my life. The Blogging Scara. Now, that is something new. But, simulatenously, I'm not changing my personality. At least not on a very serious level. There is this intrinsic need that I behold to find a deeper meaning to almost everything, even this, and to return to contemplation - after a break of utter nonsense. Blog-pause indicates nonsense, by the way. Or practicing exam material. Which again leads back to nonsensicality; alternatively, provokes it. The insatiable hunger. Now, since I'm past that, I guess we must settle for the less ideal option. I'm enduring a period of physically demanded defusion. Rendered passive. And therefore, I'm predicting a future couple of days where I'll be determined to alter that situation. Heading in that direction now, beginning to see it clearly, it's over and done with my laziness. Forcing my mind back on track, forcing my body to reconnect with my brains, forcing my self-induced moment of indifference to recoil and finally end. But it's not that easy. Maybe you need to switch between modes, constantly, and to modify your concentration; in order to be a thinker on a professional level. Man, that sounds pretentious. But, my slightly more encouraging idea is, the mind is always present (unless you develop Alzheimers; in which case it sort of refuses to co-operate, and in which case I will start living very dangerously) and ready to function. In practice, you can control it like a vehicle of buttons, wires, motors - but, naturally, a true supporter of this belief wouldn't do that. The mind is an intricate, fine machine. Its machinery is of a precious kind and in order to obtain the moments of exemplary inspiration, the much-debated, much-sought-after "epiphanies" of mysteriously visionary behaviour; of impossible creativity or revolutionary thinking; you somehow need to distance yourself from it, and skip wanting to understand how it works, and at the same time give yourself up to its powers, induldging in what it has to offers. Indeed, both my body and my mind work like old cars with unpredictable ignitions. Sometimes, they won't be switched on. Then I have to resort to patience, which is a quality I really don't possess very much of; go all destructive and angry (after a number of hours, days, weeks) because I can't work properly. At my exams, I'll write intensely for thrity minutes or so, then lay my pen down, eat something, drink something, visit the loo, take thirty minutes off biting my pencil and making annoyed drawings in the corners of my rough paper, then write intensely for two more hours, then leave. Such is my routine. I'm always one of the first to hand in, I'm always one of those who writes the most and piss of the teachers with ugly hand writing and lack of structure. No matter what I write, that is. To employ an unsuitable metaphor, I run in and out of these long tunnels of mental focus, and when I eventually see the light, when I exit one tunnel, it takes some time before I dare enter a new one. And whilst I'm inside, I don't consider, so carefully, what I'm actually constructing. Afterwards, there are loads of pieces I can't define, far less explain. Pressing buttons, that's all I do. And, very well, this turned out to be one of the most extensive and complicated posts I'd ever written which I will now at last round off. Lenthiness not intended. I was gonna write a short update on my eased-back living, how I love Die Deutschen Lebkuchen (delicious gingerbread cakes - comes with chocolate!) and how I long for Christmas. On the other hand, and as mentioned above, I'm not very clever at this whole informal babble thingy. I make everything more complicated than I should, in fact, but that's an even more complicated discussion which I will leave for another time, another place, another holiday season. Haha. So, I'm officially on the contemplative road again. Whatever it is fangirls of my stature, my kindred nature, find use in contemplating. Bon voyage de devant.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment