Grey Falling

This time of year never ceases to strike me with a wicked sense of melancholy. The setting of the seasons brings another hue of grey to a constantly-darkening world, and the new year promises darker than the last.

When I was younger, life was easily explained in black and white. Good always won, evil always lost. I was content to let my parents talk softly in the kitchen, because they were adults and adults always become concerned over things that warrant no further contemplation. Bad things happened in the world, and I was content to let them remained unexplained.  People are always defined by what they say, they always act in absolutes, they're always logically consistent with themselves.

Of course, being younger, I couldn't express this coherently: I just knew. The world works in one way and in one way only. But that is no longer the case. This darkening sky grows deeper daily, weekly, yearly, and I, as an individual, am powerless to stop it.

People are no longer merely black and white. Sometimes evil men do things and get away with it. "Good" applies to no one, and sometimes evil men do good things, much to the dismay of my simpler self. Now I know what my parents softly discuss, and even worse, I know why. Bad things happen in the world, and there is no explanation. 

And every year, things get more complicated. With whom do I spend my time? Who are my confidants? How do I express myself? How will I spend the next 60 years of life? But even more importantly, how will I spend the next minute? The next hour of life?

Where will I go to college? What about dating? Do I support my spoken-for friends? Are their relationships more important than my friendship?

Am I willing to sacrifice for a cause greater than myself? How much is too much? Does that sacrifice even matter in the grand scheme of things? How much of a difference can one teenaged, angsty, sheltered, shy, reserved, and timid girl make in her lifetime?


"What if it was true, that all we thought was right, was wrong?"

I used to read many books with courageous, plucky heroines, hoping that their bravery and  fortitude would help me find mine. Increasingly, I find myself more like Peregrin Took, swept up in an adventure... quest... thing...

...With only my good intentions and bumbling nature to help me out. And try as I might, good intentions nearly always bring more trouble upon myself and others.

I realize this is not a terribly encouraging thought to end 2011 with. It suits, though. Overwhelmingly, 2011 has been the year of indecision.

We are gathered together today to mourn the passing of an new acquaintance, Fall Quarter 2011. When this post goes live, I will have completed my last final, and consequently, last class until 2012. This morning, loaded up with little sleep, plenty of feel-good substances- in the form of peppermint hot chocolate and a magnesium supplement (squee!) - and a whole lot of shambling-zombieness, I stumbled onto campus to meet an entirely different beast.

Public transit and college campuses at night are very different from the day time. Compared to night rides, a day trip on the bus feels positively communal. And my campus? Well, let's just say it's the perfect setting for a slasher movie in the dark.

Ahem. So another one bites the dust. I'm officially starting Christmas break. Which means college applications, reference requests, a health class, and catching up with friends. Am I ready? Two words: BRING IT.

But maybe after I get some sleep.

Living in Interesting Times

It may intrigue my readers to learn that, in fifteen minutes, I will be leaving for an appointment with an acupuncturist.

Carpets of Rust

You may recall my post from a few weeks ago, Excruciating Apathy, and the sort of day where this apathy strikes the most. Yesterday was one of those days. I was walking around the college campus literally expecting to see a unicorn poke its pointy head out from around a corner.

In terms of scenery, yesterday was perfect. A thick fog heavily draped itself around everything outside, and once the sun had risen, shafts of liquid yellow hung suspended in it, waiting where the sun had left them lying between the trees. There were carpets of rust everywhere I looked, and bare branches defiantly challenged clear sky escaping from the fog. Here and there, a few hopeful trees clung on to their leaves, lifting arms filled with color high into the air. As the sun hit them, the leaves turned to flames, lighting the trees from within. The evergreens stood stolidly by, gaunt and stark but ever so graceful. When the fog burned off, it left a ghost of itself to waft through the crisp, cold, clear autumn air.

I love the Northwest.