blah-zay
I've been feeling my perrenial ache to do something profound, but it's just not there at the moment. My brain is scattered in a million tiny pieces, and more than anything I want to do something that means something, but it just seems like I plod along without any real inspiration. Somehow, I suspect the fault is mine. Not necessarily by general defect, but perhaps through a sense of self preservation the flood gates remain unopened.
It's surreal, really, to see someone you've known for thirteen years being tried for three counts of first degree murder. It's an intense mental conflict, sitting there, listening to the horrifying details of the thing she did while I remember the fun times we shared, the conversations and the memories. Silly to say, but it reminds me a bit of Harry Potter, the part where they say that killing someone rends your soul into pieces. I wonder, sometimes, if the person I knew ever really existed, or if it was always just the monster in there biding it's time. Can a good person and a monster coexist within the same being? Or is it like a point on a number line; a little round dot left in place to denote where the friend ceased to exist and gave way to the monster? What is that little point, then? What is the transition? I suppose if I knew that, I'd know an awful lot indeed.
My dad is hanging in there, but it's hard to see him so sick and in so much pain. Pray for him, please, if you do that sort of thing.
Labels: creativity, history, life
posted by Cat Named Eggroll @ 10:09 PM
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