good mornings

I didn’t expect to wake up feeling like this: completely relaxed; my eyes lulling over the familiar scene of my bedroom in the morning light, as if I had been looking at it the entire time only dormant; no magnetic pull towards a clock; no sobering moment when the images of the forthcoming day fast-forward behind my lids; just calm. After having gone to bed at five thirty a.m. and all the things that go hand in hand with that sort of night. I felt good. I was thankful for the gray weather; nature’s clouds providing me with blinds I don’t other wise have, the sound of raindrops soothing. Sometimes, I find that I take in bad weather like a breath of fresh air, and not just because it’s the only way I can - usually - sleep in, but also because, unlike the hype and bright prospects that are attributed to a sunny day, bad weather demands nothing, expects nothing, and most of all, doesn’t presume you to be in a good mood. Sometimes, there is just too much expectation in a sunny day. There is something oddly soothing and comforting in the enveloping cool hues of an overcast sky.

past the point

I was told that I had done a number on him. Months after, past the point where he was only loose tobacco from a broken cigarette at the bottom of the most obscure pockets of my memory. I felt bad, but no, no not really. The tobacco was so sparse that when I put my hand down that pocket and found them, my reaction was more of an “oh, oops” then a heart felt “fuck”. If someone were to analyze my love-life trajectory since him, one could say that I too had had a number done on me. But no, it wasn’t like that. When I broke up with him, I knew exactly what I wanted. Not this. And since, I haven’t found what I want. I don’t even know what I want. But I only have myself to blame… Not blame. It’s too pejorative of a word – I only have myself to hold accountable. And I embrace, in my single life, the freedom of answering only to myself. I sincerely hope though, that soon enough, he will loose the communal, possessive adjective "our", that so easily precedes the word "past" – the one we shared – and replace with its independent version: “my”.

this is not a self-reflexive post

People keep saying that print will disappear. And I guess this blog as well as others, is just a testament to other forms of written expression taking its place.

BUT!

Being a rather optimistic person (or maybe nostalgic is a better word? or idealistic?), I think that there is something great about being able to share the things you like so easily on the net. Before, all the underlined passages, sentences, expressions in my books would stay closeted between their covers. Now: I have somewhere to show them, and share them.

I recently fell in love with a book that appeared as a prop in my previous post: Turtle Diaries.

Here is one of my favorite passages:

"I think of [the turtles] swimming through all that golden-green water over the dark, over the chill of the deeps and the jaws of the dark. And I think of the sun over the water, the sun though the water, the eye holding the sun, being held by it with no thought and only the rhythm of the going, the steady wing-strokes of the flippers in the water. Then it doesn't seem hard to believe. It seems the only way to do it, the only way in fact to be: swimming, swimming, the eye held by the sun, no sharks in mind, nothing in mind..."

There's a part later on that mentions how sharks don't float or something; that they must always be restless, continuously moving.

I personally have never been interested in sharks – tangible or metaphorical – but to swim without any on my mind... now that'd be nice.