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My coaching was canceled, so I had time to check the rest of Bryan's thesis and give it to Stephan to give him after Chorale. This means that the only homework I need concentrate on tonight is review for the Historical Ling midterm Friday. And I should solidify my lines for tonight's rehearsal, since we're supposed to be off-book. Stephan came by to run some lines, and we're both not quite there yet.
Right now, though, my mind is at rest. There's a recording playing, on my good speakers, of the clearest and most skilful choir West of the King's Singers doing the Barber Agnus Dei and some random contemporary Requiem I've never heard. I've found the personal talismans I misplaced, the Cairo ring form David and the copper Iladi Radiel I wear on my thumb. There are... let me count... 21 candleflames burning in a concentration that makes my room look like a shrine to Led Zeppelin, and there's even a stick of orange spice incense going, too. There are things I could be doing, but I'm in a contemplative mood. Hershey's never coming back, just like his sister so long ago.
I have friends at every extreme of the spectrum of fervor for life; some in rather dire circumstances making the most of it and making opportunities for themselves, keeping a step ahead of any possible diversion happiness might take. There are a couple in stages of desperate frustration, for various reasons, who would justifiably prefer not to take it anymore. The majority of the people I know are coasting along on their designated paths, doing the work required of them and complaining or rejoicing as the situation merits. I've got everything going for me, and I'm doing things that mean a lot to me, but in a metaphysical sense I feel like I wouldn't be disappointed if it all ended abruptly. It seems like there are other things I could be doing; I don't necessarily believe in reincarnation or an afterlife, but there it is. I don't seem to be living very actively, in contrast to others I've observed.
Right now, though, my mind is at rest. There's a recording playing, on my good speakers, of the clearest and most skilful choir West of the King's Singers doing the Barber Agnus Dei and some random contemporary Requiem I've never heard. I've found the personal talismans I misplaced, the Cairo ring form David and the copper Iladi Radiel I wear on my thumb. There are... let me count... 21 candleflames burning in a concentration that makes my room look like a shrine to Led Zeppelin, and there's even a stick of orange spice incense going, too. There are things I could be doing, but I'm in a contemplative mood. Hershey's never coming back, just like his sister so long ago.
I have friends at every extreme of the spectrum of fervor for life; some in rather dire circumstances making the most of it and making opportunities for themselves, keeping a step ahead of any possible diversion happiness might take. There are a couple in stages of desperate frustration, for various reasons, who would justifiably prefer not to take it anymore. The majority of the people I know are coasting along on their designated paths, doing the work required of them and complaining or rejoicing as the situation merits. I've got everything going for me, and I'm doing things that mean a lot to me, but in a metaphysical sense I feel like I wouldn't be disappointed if it all ended abruptly. It seems like there are other things I could be doing; I don't necessarily believe in reincarnation or an afterlife, but there it is. I don't seem to be living very actively, in contrast to others I've observed.