It has been confirmed to me through Twitter that a couple of people felt strange yesterday. I know I sure did. This may not be the most eloquently put, but DUDE THERE WERE SOME WEIRD ASS VIBES IN THE AIR. I honestly think it had something to do with the approaching storm. A good chunk of my afternoon and evening was spent pacing back and forth, reading Chekhov, screaming into various pillows, and chewing on ice. I did manage to make myself a sandwich at 10:30pm, which I ate, which made me feel better, which came as a surprise but shouldn't. Dear sweet Meggie, when will you fully realize that food = fuel and that humans need fuel and that you, dear, are a human, not an alien or a robot. (Well, you may be an alien, but I shall discuss that in a future post which will never be written.)
Anyway, weird vibes. Yesterday. Today? Much, much better vibes. Maybe it has something to do with my attitude? I've consciously decided to be in a more lighthearted mood today and, as simple as that sounds, I think it's working. Turns out simplicity and sandwiches really do work. Now that the storm is here, I can finally relax. And isn't that how it goes? The anticipation is more often than not worse than the actual event -- even if the event is an exciting one. We make ourselves miserable when we aren't living in the present. CUE TIBETAN MEDITATION MUSIC.
I know this seems antithetical to what I just wrote above, but I plan on spending the day reading depressing Russian literature. I am nothing if not an absolute sucker for drama, mayhem, and topsy-turviness in my books. To disappear into another world and reemerge whenever you wish is the TOPS. Funny thing is, however, sometimes it is quite the struggle to reemerge. And that's okay. Just refer to me as Meghan Raskolnikov from now on. (Note: I did not nor will I ever murder an old, withered pawnbroker.)
I also plan on, you know, unpacking all of my boxes from my move a week ago. Hey! That's good for me! I only waited six days to unpack? New record. I guess I should also do something with poetry. Read it, research it, ideally write it... I mean, I did proclaim my undying love/lust for it yesterday. Can't abandon poetry, Meg! I won't allow it! So. To recap. 1) Read Russian literature. 2) Do not kill a pawnbroker. 3) Unpack my poorly packed boxes. 4) Read some rad-as-hell poetry by some rad-as-hell dead dudes and ladies. And some living people as well. Maybe even some aliens. No robots. 5) Write five poems, even if they are awful. Maybe try writing some love sonnets for Paul Simon! (See two posts ago.) 6) Harass a crush or three with texts later tonight and then instantly regret it.
Love you, remaining readers! Thanks for sticking around.