Wheel in the Sky
It's about five thirty in the morning on Sunday, and I'm sitting in my room at my computer, and the fan is on high, so it drowns out most noise, although I can still hear myself typing, and my roommate is sleeping soundly slightly behind me and to the left. I wonder if he got drunk tonight. He tends to do that. Fortunately for the both of us, he doesn't drink if he has crew practice or races the next day, which is every day except Sundays (so Saturday nights) and occasionally Saturdays (so Friday nights). He wasn't puking when I came in here before, so either he smartened up and didn't drink too much like he always does, or wizened up and stopped drinking. That's not going to happen, though. He would only stop drinking for his girlfriend, and I know he would. He really loves her. I'm always glad to be reminded of them, because they have such a healthy relationship. It almost restores my faith in humanity, because they're just normal Americans, and they're not the marry-and-divorce transient-relationship type of people. Maybe their (mutual) Catholic backgrounds instilled some sense of morals in them that they just can't shake off.
The wheel in the sky keeps on turning; so it goes. Everything is smoothing out right now. I cut myself on Ryan's skates in an amazing wipeout while skating. I didn't know it was bleeding until he kindly pointed it out, and it was really bleeding. For some reason I started to get really, really dizzy (I think it's the jolt my head got from the fall or something), so I went to sit down, and then the elevator arrived after a little bit of sitting. I already discovered that looking at bright lights eliminated all other senses, like a flashbang might, and the ding from the elevator did the same thing. It was more severe, even though it didn't hurt like looking at the lights. It seemed to last forever, and it made everything sort of go white and silent. I was so out of it, it was amazing. I almost want to do it again, but it can't be healthy, so I'm avoiding it. Well, I'm trying to avoid it; I don't really know what caused it. Then skating right after that was weird, because motion was all blurred, like a movie or game or something. People would cut me off and I'd be completely thrown out of balance. It was so strange. The experience would have been nicer if I hadn't felt my life was at stake, either because of the potential for a concussion or because of the exponentially growing chance of collision.
But the wheel in the sky kept on turning; so it went. And everything has smoothed out now; writing helps. We watched The Count of Monte Carlo, and I'm still looking for your face on every street (listen to the song if you haven't). It ended at 4:20 ante meridian, and beginning to write this, I wonder where seventy minutes went. Strange, time. It keeps going, though, and I can't be static because my environment continues to change; I have to change with it, adapt. So I've calmed myself when it comes to negative thinking and left the happiness untethered, and it's working out well, so far. We ate at Berkshire, and it was indeed delicious—almost as if it wasn't a cafeteria—and they chose one of those circular corner booth things like our family always gets at Bertuccis in Beverly, but we already had two people pulled up with chairs and barely any room for a third, and no room at all on the table, so I sat alone. I thought, and I experienced. I thought about what I've been thinking about for the past several hours, and I experienced the crowd in the room.
The noise started getting to me, and all the conversations, like the cheerleader and her friends behind me, whose stupidity started to get on my nerves. I closed my eyes and covered my ears, and everything was ringing, so I listened to it for a while. The ringing wasn't annoying; it was constant. I think it helped me think. Is that the frequency of my brain? I actually heard it as if I could feel it, sort of. I wrapped my hearing sense around the ringing, since it covered a small range of frequencies. It was silent, but not completely silent, and the sound of the ringing was the sound of silence. Sort of like white noise, except relaxing, to a certain extent. Then I let go of my ears and opened my eyes, and was confronted with an interestingly mellow crowd. Strange. I started really listening to people, watching them without actually watching them, because staring at people tends to creep them out.
And I felt something I haven't for a long time. It's coming back to me now. I felt for each person there. I loved them for their humanity. It was almost overwhelming, but completely under control. I was legitimately hoping for the best for each person around me. It was like a generic friendship, offered to all, with no expectation of anything in return. Altruism. That's what it was. Altruism. I felt it. It wasn't just a principle anymore; it was an emotion, but a controlling emotion, because it affects everything. Madeline told me I should join the group, and respected my request to remain alone, and again asked me why I was hanging behind the group when we returned to the cars, as did Tom. I guess the real friendship showed through there. The rest of them ignored me, except for when I did sort of rejoin the group, I got the standard Your Mom jokes from most and the You're a Retarded Faggot jokes from Brennan. They don't hurt at all; they're just obnoxious. And Nate found out, so he doesn't make Your Mom jokes at me anymore. I hate those because they remind me; I appreciate them because they remind me. I need to be reminded, because even though it takes a little chunk out of my happiness every time, it brings me down to earth. It eliminates my transcendental state, I guess. I didn't want it to leave, even though I've been trying to get it out of my head. I'm letting it stay, though. I'll remember this later. It'll be hope for me.
I wonder how coherent my thought process is to other people. This entire post has made such perfect sense to me, but would anyone else understand? Understanding is important. Understanding is why I write. I try to convey an experience, like my elevator signal trip, or my altruistic enlightenment, such that my audience will understand. I don't know why it's important that others understand me. It makes communication easier, but what information of importance do I have to communicate? None. I don't need to be important any more. Being helpful in one other person's life makes me complete. I just wish it was [name censored], for reasons undisclosed.
Weariness of the mind overcomes me, so I now retire (temporarily) to bed. Who reads this? I sure don't.
The wheel in the sky keeps on turning; so it goes. Everything is smoothing out right now. I cut myself on Ryan's skates in an amazing wipeout while skating. I didn't know it was bleeding until he kindly pointed it out, and it was really bleeding. For some reason I started to get really, really dizzy (I think it's the jolt my head got from the fall or something), so I went to sit down, and then the elevator arrived after a little bit of sitting. I already discovered that looking at bright lights eliminated all other senses, like a flashbang might, and the ding from the elevator did the same thing. It was more severe, even though it didn't hurt like looking at the lights. It seemed to last forever, and it made everything sort of go white and silent. I was so out of it, it was amazing. I almost want to do it again, but it can't be healthy, so I'm avoiding it. Well, I'm trying to avoid it; I don't really know what caused it. Then skating right after that was weird, because motion was all blurred, like a movie or game or something. People would cut me off and I'd be completely thrown out of balance. It was so strange. The experience would have been nicer if I hadn't felt my life was at stake, either because of the potential for a concussion or because of the exponentially growing chance of collision.
But the wheel in the sky kept on turning; so it went. And everything has smoothed out now; writing helps. We watched The Count of Monte Carlo, and I'm still looking for your face on every street (listen to the song if you haven't). It ended at 4:20 ante meridian, and beginning to write this, I wonder where seventy minutes went. Strange, time. It keeps going, though, and I can't be static because my environment continues to change; I have to change with it, adapt. So I've calmed myself when it comes to negative thinking and left the happiness untethered, and it's working out well, so far. We ate at Berkshire, and it was indeed delicious—almost as if it wasn't a cafeteria—and they chose one of those circular corner booth things like our family always gets at Bertuccis in Beverly, but we already had two people pulled up with chairs and barely any room for a third, and no room at all on the table, so I sat alone. I thought, and I experienced. I thought about what I've been thinking about for the past several hours, and I experienced the crowd in the room.
The noise started getting to me, and all the conversations, like the cheerleader and her friends behind me, whose stupidity started to get on my nerves. I closed my eyes and covered my ears, and everything was ringing, so I listened to it for a while. The ringing wasn't annoying; it was constant. I think it helped me think. Is that the frequency of my brain? I actually heard it as if I could feel it, sort of. I wrapped my hearing sense around the ringing, since it covered a small range of frequencies. It was silent, but not completely silent, and the sound of the ringing was the sound of silence. Sort of like white noise, except relaxing, to a certain extent. Then I let go of my ears and opened my eyes, and was confronted with an interestingly mellow crowd. Strange. I started really listening to people, watching them without actually watching them, because staring at people tends to creep them out.
And I felt something I haven't for a long time. It's coming back to me now. I felt for each person there. I loved them for their humanity. It was almost overwhelming, but completely under control. I was legitimately hoping for the best for each person around me. It was like a generic friendship, offered to all, with no expectation of anything in return. Altruism. That's what it was. Altruism. I felt it. It wasn't just a principle anymore; it was an emotion, but a controlling emotion, because it affects everything. Madeline told me I should join the group, and respected my request to remain alone, and again asked me why I was hanging behind the group when we returned to the cars, as did Tom. I guess the real friendship showed through there. The rest of them ignored me, except for when I did sort of rejoin the group, I got the standard Your Mom jokes from most and the You're a Retarded Faggot jokes from Brennan. They don't hurt at all; they're just obnoxious. And Nate found out, so he doesn't make Your Mom jokes at me anymore. I hate those because they remind me; I appreciate them because they remind me. I need to be reminded, because even though it takes a little chunk out of my happiness every time, it brings me down to earth. It eliminates my transcendental state, I guess. I didn't want it to leave, even though I've been trying to get it out of my head. I'm letting it stay, though. I'll remember this later. It'll be hope for me.
I wonder how coherent my thought process is to other people. This entire post has made such perfect sense to me, but would anyone else understand? Understanding is important. Understanding is why I write. I try to convey an experience, like my elevator signal trip, or my altruistic enlightenment, such that my audience will understand. I don't know why it's important that others understand me. It makes communication easier, but what information of importance do I have to communicate? None. I don't need to be important any more. Being helpful in one other person's life makes me complete. I just wish it was [name censored], for reasons undisclosed.
Weariness of the mind overcomes me, so I now retire (temporarily) to bed. Who reads this? I sure don't.
posted by Andrew Hills at 5:27 AM
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