Soliloqui

And I don’t want the world to see me
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

I wanted to write about something a few days ago, but I forgot what. I remember I had a lot to say about it though. What a shame.

It’s hard for me to contemplate or let my mind wander freely on the off-chance that I might remember my mind’s fleeting blog topics. The reason? I have a fucking paper due on Friday. On a 300 page book I haven’t read. Yet.

Yeah.

Oh. I actually remembered what I wanted to write about. But I’ll save that for next time. This was a shit entry posted so I could copy and paste the beautiful chorus of “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls. I think it holds some relevance to events in my life right now.

Sorry for wasting your time. Hah.

Oh. Again. Even though I got soaked in the rain today, I still think rain is romantic. I don’t know why I (and many other people) think that. I really don’t get it. What is the appeal of rain? I guess the word is pretty. It’s wet. Why am I thinking about this? Because I just read the lyrics to “She’s My Kind of Rain” by Tim McGraw and it’s just beautiful.

She’s my kind of rain
Like love from a drunken sky
Confetti falling down all night
She’s my kind of rain

She’s the sunset’s shadow
She’s like Rembrandt’s light
She’s the history that’s made at night
She’s my lost companion
She’s my dreamin’ tree
Together in this brief eternity

I’m sorry my friends, but even the cynic of all cynics cannot deny that this is the kind of love we all want.

Speaking of country music, I told my dad (the britpop/alternative/rock enthusiast) that I was kind of into country music now. He says I’ve spent too much time in Ithaca. I said I don’t listen to the radio here anyway, because I don’t have one. Don’t know why I listen to country music now. I guess because it’s romantic and simple, not convoluted or pseudo-deep like some of pop/rock these days.
Oh my, it’s Christine Lee, the fob wannabe country music fanatic. I’m a walking oxymoron.

This was a weird, disjointed entry. Y’all know I’m only trying to avoid the 284 page wrath of “Among Empires: American Ascendancy and Its Predecessors”.

my first taste of love
bittersweet
green on the vine
like strawberry wine

The great tragedy of Science – the slaying of a beautiful hypothesis by an ugly fact.

I’m afraid to be happy.

This is a stupid, ungrateful philosophy to be subscribing to. Alas, it’s the truth.

I mean, to some point I crave happiness. Who doesn’t? Happiness is a goal, a religion, a state of being. But once I reach a certain stage of ebullience, I fear it.

1. I believe that life is balanced. If something good happens, something bad is sure to follow. Equilibrium must be established.

2. Happiness has to end some time.

But then, this sort of goes along with the saying, “Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.” Which, I guess is true. Take the rain with the rainbows, I suppose? Better to have been happy and sad than never happy at all? Why does mediocrity seem so tempting sometimes? Maybe because, of course, there’s that other saying, “No news is good news.”

As a side note, there’s a reason I equally fear relationships. Relationships also have to end.
And even if they don’t, they interfere with other platonic relationships i.e. friendships. Spending too much time with one person…surely the cons outweigh the pros? Maybe I’m just not good at balancing all these elements in my life. Or just bad at all prosocial behaviors known to man.

As many people have told me, I’m going to grow up and be old, alone, save for a few dozen stray cats, and be called “that crazy cat lady/madwoman”.

I’m allergic to cats. Which just makes the scenario all the more bizarre.