Building Block Towers

A month is the only time element that is both intrinsically eternal and microcosmic. I was going to say that a lot has happened, and it most likely has, but of what consequence is it? I have a guaranteed F in two classes, a guaranteed A in one, and maybe a B+ to show for my half-assed work in yet another. And I'm dropping out of my school. These days, I feel like Holden Caulfield, I really do.

Then, after writing it, I realize I've given you the Caulfield joke before. This is the monotony of my life, if complete incoherence can be described as monotonous.

My professor of writing suggests that I continue with school, and to read the great literary canon to help dig my niche in the writing world. I enjoy writing, though you could have gathered that. Perhaps, if you're in my first group of followers, I'll give you all signed copies of my first work.

And of course, into the greater scheme of things, I will now extract a quote:

Mankind, ignorant of the truths that lie within every human being, looked outward-pushed ever outward. [...] Eventually it flung them out into space, into the colorless, tasteless, weightless sea of outwardness without end. It flung them like stones.

Kurt Vonnegut

The greater things in our life are the things that tend to take place in our minds, in the great microcosm of neurons. My great things are all quesetions, as it were. And tonight, or today, or whenever it is that you so happen to read this, I would like to develop a more informed understanding of nostalgia.

It's been well established that nostalgia is a depression of varying intensity, over the longing for the past to return. It's the feeling that gives us an excuse to remember ex's, old jobs, places we lived, and all of the etceteras. Our beautiful past, as it were.

At my present age of 20 (going on five-thousand it seems), I have finally hit the surface of reality. To explicate, I have now completed my second decade on Earth, out of a projected 7.8. Sometimes, in my disorientation, I'll earnestly consider what middle school like will be like, or where I put my blocks, before realizing that those days are a part of a different life.

Which leads me to wonder if we were ever what we remember. We can have our memories, and we can the meaning and nostalgia for these memories, but did the past ever actually happen? There are times, occurring sadly more often, that I believe the more grim answer.

But what can you do, you know? I guess complaining is the most that can be done. But hey, if you have an answer, inform me!

À bientôt!