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The one in which I actually return. For now.

12.03.04 (08.50)

And then I saw M. (umm, yeah, hi. Long time, no see.) Shitty months for my mental state for reasons I don't think I can quite explain (it was the dark and the blah and I keep forgetting that Jan/Feb aren't good months for me, so I mostly slept. And did nothing), but nonetheless; it's almost looking like spring and life as of right now could be a lot worse. Even if I did see M, right out of the blue, in town. I was certain she wasn't around anymore, but then she was, and she came to my coffeeshop. My sanctuary, my haven, my home away from home. (And feel free to laugh, but it's true. Sorta sad, but there you have it) And she wandered in just like that, as if her being back in town is an everyday occurance. Bloody nuisance.

Not that I care too much, but I'd prefer it if I never saw her again, and that doesn't work very well when she randomly pops up.

Other than that, I'm slowly working my way through the blah, and getting to the goodness inherent in man. This leads to staring at fellow students and saying "Oh yeah, I have hate enough to spare, I give it freely", which doesn't sound good, I know, but it was meant in a good way. Sort of. And I couldn't stop laughing while saying it, so I have a vague feeling one could replace the hate with love and it'd be just as true. It is just as true, I have love enough to spare and I give it freely and my fellow students get a lot of it, because they are all loveable. So loveable. So much so that I'm not sure what I'll do when we all move on. Two semesters with these people is far from enough. We'll see how it goes, for now I enjoy every lesson and love every discussion, no matter how much of a moron I end up looking like. I do that a lot lately, for reasons I couldn't begin to comprehend, but oddly enough; that too helps in the lessening of blah. Because I enjoy laughing at myself? Or because I am smart enough to realise when I'm making myself look stupid.

I've begun reading Gormenghast, the trilogy. And it's long, and it's slow, and it feels like dark chocolate. I can't get through more than one or two chapters at a time, because they go to my head and weigh it down, and I end up spending almost as much time staring out the window, contemplating the fate of the free world, as I do reading. Not that I mind, staring out windows is pretty enjoyable too. Especially now that we actually have sun again. Sun is good.

Other than that I read a book or two a week, as one is prone to do when studying literature, so far Woolf is my favorite, and I'm dreading Beloved, as I have heard nothing but bad about it. My father said, about a work by Camus, "There are some things which are classics that I really wish weren't classics". Though that's mostly because he isn't fond of rats, and the book by Camus I read yesterday wasn't the one about rats either way, so it's not so bad. But I'm not fond of rats either, and I feel like Camus writes like I do, and I'm not something anyone will read in a houndred years, so I don't understand why we still read him. I guess it's the non-understandable aspect of why some writers achieve success, while others lose themselves in nothing.

So maybe this was my attempt to not dissapear completely? We'll see how it goes.

Music of the moment: a veritable ouburst of random, thanks to my iPod.
Favorite? there is this one student. I like him. A lot. (in a platonic way)

S-K ©Milkshake n' honey