The Paris Wife

"More and more I found myself at a loss for words and didn't want to hear other people talking either. Their conversations seemed false and empty. I preferred to look at the sea, which said nothing and never made you feel alone."

The Horse Dealer's Daughter

"Only now it had become indispensable to him to have her face pressed close to him; he could never let her go again. He could never let her head go away from the close clutch of his arm. He wanted to remain like that for ever, with his heart hurting him in a pain that was also life to him."

Sons & Lovers

"Miriam loitered behind, alone. She did not fit in with the others; she could very rarely get into human relations with anyone: so her friend, her companion, her lover, was Nature. She saw the sun declining wanly. In the dusky, cold hedgerows were some red leaves. She lingered to gather them, tenderly, passionately. The love in her finger-tips caressed the leaves, the passion in her heart came to a glow upon the leaves."

The Bell Jar

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."

Quiet Riot, "Mama Were All Crazee Now"

"The unreal is more powerful than the real, because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. Because its only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well, they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on."

Silence is a fickle thing. For some of us, it's appreciated, for others it's dreaded. Being immersed in good 'ol Mama Nature, "Hello, Clarice," or (dare I say it) the silent treatment - each leaves us feeling anywhere from way up, to way, way, beneath-the-earth's-crust magma low. What's interesting, though, is how much silence surrounds relationships. Is this normal, or are we simply living amongst couplings who happen to have a surplus of duct tape?

Why are we so obsessed about discussing normalcy, when in fact, normalcy isn't (sorry daydreamers) normal? We can spend hours chatting about last night's game highlights, yet when it comes to the behind the scenes/off the field discourse - silence reins supreme.

Just like relationships.

Humanity is eager to speak about the positives (call us optimists), and consequently, bury away the negatives. Soon, we have an over-booked graveyard and a full moon coming. We trivialize and affront those who are "having problems," "working things out," or worst of all, "seeking help," all at a low whisper. Its almost like we're scared into the "Sleeping Beauty reality." Of course - Prince Charming will come, wake you up from an evil slumber, wed and bed you in only a matter of days. But what if Aurora was enjoying her shut eye? Maybe she'd been an insomniac for years and a man (who just so happened to be a Prince) penetrated her spatial proxemics, all for the sake of his Napoleon complex? Because of our unwillingness to say, "Hey, Princey and I are struggling. We're trying to understand each other and it's not easy," we again, influence future generations that things, in fact, should be easy, and if they're not - something's obviously wrong with you (or him).

Seldom you hear (or begin to see) from your parents that marriage is difficult, and I surely appreciate the gesture of honesty. But that's it. Everything else should be a walk in the always incandescent, smiley, happy-go-lucky park - work, school, friends, xy and xx. As much as I enjoy glasses half full (especially rose-colored ones), I'm trying not to be confused by the unspoken rule of life. We keep a lot to ourselves. Sometimes it helps, but a lot of the time it hurts.

Whether or not we have real expectations regarding life, love (thank you Notting Hill), and the pursuit of happiness, I suppose it really doesn't matter. Because soon enough, we each fall into situations that make soap operas hit a little closer to home. And then we can start to, finally, understand. Much like any instance, we never quite know how someone's feeling until we too, get pulled over for going 83 in a 65.

It's okay to be okay, and it's okay to not be, too. And maybe that's why this profound silence continues to live on. Waiting for the rest, while now, ironically, growing quiet in contentment.

"If people are truly, madly, deeply in love with each other, they will find a way." Remember that.

Cheers,

CourtReplies

You are the Wolf, I am the Moon.

"I know women are taught by other women that they must never admit the full truth to a man. But the highest form of affection is based on full sincerity on both sides. Not being men, these women don't know that in looking back on those he has had tender relations with, a man's heart returns closest to her who was the soul of truth in her conduct. The better class of man, even if caught by airy affectations of dodging and parrying, is not retained by them. A Nemesis attends the woman who plays the game of elusiveness too often, in the utter contempt for her that, sooner or later, her old admirers feel; under which they allow her to go unlamented to her grave."

My Cat Ate My Homework.

I've been out of school for a while now, and, to say the least, I feel rather stupid.

I can't for the life of me figure out the square root of 16, let alone the fact that I've reverted to counting on my fingers*. My vocabulary has diminished to only simple verbs and minimal adjectives when conversing, and my discursive skills seem to be comparable to an illiterate six year old - or, rather, an indifferent, untied-Vans-wearing teenager. Needless to say, I haven't written in some time, which I blame largely on an ever so distant mental stimulation.

And that depresses me.

After all, I find great enjoyment inscribing frivolous encounters and revelations. Each day I become inspired by some event, some individual, yet words seem to fail me. I get this grandiose anecdote in my mind with a solid tag-line to boot, but then I start using 'like' in place of subordinating conjunctions and I give up - I totally like just like hypocritically like became my like biggest pet peeve.

Like, like, like.

And I cringe.

Needless to say, I never thought I would miss the monotonous grind of our educational system. I obtain great contentment waking up early to find myself sitting in the back row, neatly sharpened pencil in hand, and an outdoors scene being doodled onto a pad of paper**. Most of all, though, I never realized how much more intelligent I was when being consistently challenged and mentally tested.

It's amazing to think that a lot of our knowledge is fleeting, and unless it's being routinely fed, we begin to lose it.

I wonder just how many months it takes to forget the things we've learned, how many days it takes to forget the things we've felt, and how many minutes it takes to forget the things you've just told me***.

I suppose it's neither here nor there, but I reckon we have to rely on Truth - that there's a season for everything. This just happens to be my season of having a bad case of ineptitude****.

So, whether you're feeling rather dull and commonplace, remember that you probably are.

But that's the beauty of the situation, because even though you may think your contribution to society is few and far between, we have an active God, which is something I daresay admit to forgetting.

All this to say, there is a plan for my life, and this just happens to be a part of it - even if it means I'm a slower-than-usual, surgery-recovering, always tired, sarcastic and stubborn piece of work.

Eventually my brainwaves will start functioning again, that I have no doubt. After all, God knows how much my heart leaps when simply buying school supplies. All it takes is a little faith, and He'll take care of the rest - stupidity and all (I hope).

Cheers to adolescence.

CourtReplies

*Which takes some time, by the way.

**I take notes, too.

***It doesn't help that I have a terrible memory.

****Spell-check helped me on that*****.

*****See what I mean?! Terrible.