Obligatory holiday post begins...now.
Hope all of your Christmases were lovely. I apologize, as always, for the hiatus between this post and the last. Still, I'm back, and that counts for something, right?
This sleepless night, my mind is infested with a million little thoughts, whose little, quiet voices combine into a deafening cacophony that gives me a headache, not to mention keeps me from getting any shut-eye.
And so, I shall proceed to sharing some of those noisy little thoughts with the internet. The vast, populous network of approximately two billion, which funnily enough seems to be completely deserted when it concerns visitors to this blog. Still haven't made up my mind as to how I feel about that - annoyed, that my book-worthy blogging has not received the praise and admiration it so obviously deserves (sarcasm does not translate well to the written word); relieved, that poor souls do not have to wade through pools of my senseless and often depressing rambling; or some strange mix of the two (annieved?).
But that's all besides the point. What was my point, anyway? Oh, that's right. Noisy thoughts. Some more preamble is necessary, in explaining that when I don't write when I am inspired, the ideas do not go to die in a special place. Instead, they stay. And nag. And nag. Sometimes, they manifest via highly disturbing dream sequences. Other times, they set off fireworks in my head during the most inopportune moments: when I'm having a particularly serious conversation, or while I'm racking my brains to finish a timed history test, for example.
Also, because I think in patches, the noisy thoughts will take the form of disorganized snippets as well. Enjoy.
***
I was thinking the other day about how they say that the human experience is defined by relationships: with family, friends, strangers, even yourself (particularly pertinent if you've got multiple personalities, I suppose). Apparently, we are all more alike each other than we can possibly imagine, which is why we need to consider our actions and their impacts thoroughly and thoughtfully, preferably before we act on them.
I don't know. This whole idea of interconnectedness seems to just fly over my head. It's too big and complicated, and I'd much rather continue to operate as if I were in a bubble. Simplifies the matter, and keeps me from going insane.
***
At Church for midnight mass on Christmas Day, I inhaled the very particular scent of burning incense, and was overcome by a strong wave of nostalgia. Due to younger brother's broken arm, and resulting biweekly hospital visits, we hadn't attended for almost half a year. In that moment, I had a flash of understanding for what it was that has kept organized religion alive for so long. Just the long-awaited feeling of returning home.
And then it was gone, and I spent the rest of the mass sceptically questioning the origin of Christmas in my head, while the choir belted out tunes in Latin.
***
My only thought as I downed the umpteenth glass of sparkling fruit juice was that my stomach couldn't possibly have the capacity for all the turkey I had eaten. I was surely going to explode.
***
SALE! 50-75% OFF! BUY ONE, GET ONE FREE!
Waiting outside a Toys 'R Us while my cousin and brother explored inside, I was feeling just a tad overwhelmed by the influx of people around me. Signs advertising discounts, and colourful shopping bags were everywhere. The mall spun around me, a dizzying display of the consumer spending that drives 70% of the GDP by expenditure calculations.
And then I saw him. Or at least, I thought I did. Someone who used to be my close friend, who I could tell anything to, who had stuck by me for two of the most confusing years of my life. Who I had knowingly hurt and turned away.
Like the eternal coward I am, I hid and waited for him to walk right past me, and bit my tongue on all the words that threatened to pour right out.
***
And it's strange how empty I always feel after Christmas. Despite weeks of hype, and days of intense build up, the actual day is somehow never able to live up to the expectations. A flop. Like a beautifully wrapped, flashy package that turns out to be nothing but a sock. With a hole in it.
***
And that's probably my cue to stop writing. When I begin spouting off bad similes, and making less and less sense with each sentence that I type.
I think that helped with the insomnia. Just a bit.
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