Sometimes I feel gripped with a madness and futility. I don' know what plunges me into these feelings, but I don't have much to do much wait for them to pass. I start thinking crazy, like that patience and charity would be the correct ways to deal with life. I wish I had the patience to be a boring woman who sat and worked endlessly toward chillingly empty goals. I wish I had a desire to do good work in a convent. I am having urges to start adopting cats from the animal shelter. I could get a pair of bookish glasses, because I'm not really interested in what my exterior looks are. It's unrelated to furthering my education and blindly carrying on this life without much passion or feeling.
But I look at my messy apartment, I search inwardly and find feelings flaring and meeting and crashing. There's music in my soul, and the music is richer for the mistakes and risks. It's as though each foolhardy decision I make is a rising crescendo in a sultry and endless sequence that is both catchy and a cacophony. It's beautiful how broken my reasoning is. I feel like a cyclone dancing in a rhythm no one can hear across a flat and endless plain. An empty desert, a chill wind like a foreign touch in such a typically hot clime, large desert storm building on the horizon. Each dizzy turn brings my emotions reeling from dizzily happy, from certain to desperate to depressed. And back to content somewhere in the eye of the storm. But on the outside forever oscillating between the extremes of my emotions. I wonder sometimes if there is no end to this? What would it matter if this was life? Or do I view it as a volatile part of my life that one day will be behind me. A distance memory or a blurry photograph.
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