Life seems to always get a bit interesting when the thoughts and narrative in my head develop an English accent of sorts. It’s a jumble-mix of all of the actors and actresses who even have the slightest one in many of the motion pictures and television shows that are airing. So clearly it needs a bit of work. I mean, it’s not bad if I may say so myself-
Besides the point.
I can’t tell you when the last time my throat felt *anything* other than hoarse and dry. It still does and the rasp in my voice fades in and out, so I suppose the accent is some sort of attempt to muster of confidence for my voice (or lack thereof ).
Whatever the matter, it is what it is.
Anxiety seems to be itching away at my entire house, perhaps my entire school. Wind howls outside. I can’t quite tell if it’s the wind or if someone is watching a ghostly movie but I’m assuming it’s the wind as the time currently states 3:20 in the morning.
I have a mild theory that writers never sleep. When ideas are present in the mind of someone who has a *need* to scribe whatever spews from their state of mind ( or lack thereof, once again) – they are restless until it is written down. This being the case, it brings me to my present situation. There are quite a number of subjects that I should address in writing, however all of them lack a certain interest.
“it kind of sounds like the ocean,” Sonia, my roommate, remarked – it’s true. The wind itself seems to crash against the building, and as the breeze pulls away if one were to close their eyes and let themselves believe it – is much like the ocean reclaiming it’s water. The sea returning to it’s depths for the cycle of waves to begin again. Perhaps these are not the monstrous waves of the northern pacific coast but smaller waves of the south, perhaps by Santa Cruz where the water is more so gentle, the crashes, bearable. Leaves scuttle like worried bugs along the ground as the current gathers them and brushes them aside. Who are they but small leaves stand against a mighty tide.
It’s funny how the world presents itself, each thing is a smaller more delicate world of it’s own. Worlds within worlds much like Nesting Dolls. As humans we do not believe ourselves to be standing “against” the world but rather for it. As time goes on I would like to believe as a society people are attempting to do “what’s best” – regardless of who it’s best for, it’s a good intention for someone out there.
Who are we but small people to stand strong, against a mighty world.
All of it really is just a conceptional idea to ponder. Perhaps I have no point for this scribble, as it is three in the morning and more than anything I’d rather just get back to sleep. Hopefully now the opportunity to sleep will present itself as I got these maddening thoughts freed from the captive state of my mind. goodnight -or rather – good day. It would be wondrous if the ocean could lull me to sleep, as you might understand – there’s nothing but a pirate’s life for me.