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