"The idea, you know, is that the sentimental person thinks things will last--the romantic person has a desperate confidence that they won't."

I'm having one of those nights when I'm tired but can't seem to fall asleep.  I have a lot of studying to do, plenty to choose from as far as reading material is concerned yet I find that I can't keep my mind focused on the material.  I think it unwise to continue to read if I won't retain so here I am.  I have tests and a final project to start on.  The impending end of my contract at work is nearing quickly and I have yet to hear back on the position I interviewed for a week ago.  I need to start working on maths again so that I can be finished with my A.S. by next summer.  Which means that I'm going to need to apply to C.U. soon and for financial aid.  I need to get my car washed, go to the grocery store, do some yoga.

The gong bath was nice on Tuesday.  I felt rejuvenated in a muted sort of way, one that kind of crept up on me.  I couldn't stop smiling on Wednesday.  You'd have thought I met a boy or something.  I feel more centered and peaceful, ready to finish the semester with renewed vigor and approach this next week with a positive attitude in favor of being presented with the job.  I have this subtle sense of confidence that everything is going to work out just the way I want it to.  I realize once again the amount of control I have over my decisions therefore over my life.  I have been reminded of my ability to successfully control my thoughts although I struggled tonight.

It's funny the way that someone becomes imbedded in your life, so deep that they are forgotten except every once in a while when we are reminded of them, whether by their inclination or our own, a memory recalled suddenly because of some insignificant prompt like the cold weather.  Years can pass, months and hours tick by unnoticed and then there they are once again, a refreshed feeling coupled with a desire for tangibility: to reach out and touch them.  Just to know that there is a reality which spurred these recollections is an unmatched satisfaction.  The possibility, usually, to do this is rare and I find myself in this last hour wishing for just that, an acknowledgement of what I remember.  In these moments of defiant lethargy my mind likes to perpetuate the stubborn nature of it all by fixating on small things like wondering if perhaps I am ever the focus of such contemplation.  I know that I am to some, on occasion, but this curiosity is of a reciprocal nature: does the person attached to these specific memories find themselves thinking of them as well?  Or am I alone in fond reminiscence of times that feel a lifetime away?

These things are of little concern though.  They are just silly little distractions that a part of my brain conjures when it is bored thinking of spatial dispersion and utilitarianism.  The following quote is quite fitting, all things considered:

"...his ideas were still in riot; there was ever the pain of memory...

yet the waters of disillusion had left a deposit on his soul, 

responsibility and a love of life,

the stirring of old ambitions and unrealized dreams."

~ F. Scott Fitzgerald 

And while we're at it, since "This Side of Paradise" is marvelous, a personal favorite:

"She is one of those girls who need never make the slightest effort to have men fall in love with them.  Two types of men seldom do: dull men are usually afraid of her cleverness &intellectual men are usually afraid of her beauty."

DL-2012.11.18