A train wrecked train of thoughts

I found a quiet corner of the old library, with empty shelves and old furniture. Away from the traffic and the study groups. Away from the people searching for relevant books. A comfortable place to sit and think… or maybe in my case, a comfortable place to ramble on about various topics. Lacking in direction, just thinking thinking thinking. And somehow that sounds like meditation-- when you are supposed to bring your attention back to your breath.

Today I discovered the “notes” section of facebook (one of the many reasons I don’t like facebook, so much stuff that I can’t keep track of). I was reading one of those time consuming-life wasting surveys and one of the questions sort of redirected my thinking for the day. The question was pretty basic. Are you emotional? See? Not a very interesting question, but obviously a question that might be directed at women. I.e. do you cry all the time? Are you one of those wild women who will someday throw dishes at your husband? I admit, every so often when I’m physically exhausted and tired out of my mind, I leak a few tears. I leak when people die sometimes. I leaked when I was at my limit in India. So on. But if it comes to things like that, I’m usually not what you would call “emotional.”
But I am pretty emotional. Not in the traditional “weepy woman” sort of way, but I think it has a stereotype of its own (but I’m going to ignore it, because it is not my point). When I like something, I get really excited. I become giddy and it is obnoxious. There is no equalizer or time release tablet for my excitement, it just bursts forth, full force. Because I am well aware that people don’t give a shit, I can keep it to low levels, but truth be told, I have this swell of excitement deep down inside me—strike that, it isn’t deep down, it is pretty shallow and bubbly up at the top. So there you have it, I’m fucking gleeful. If I like something or think someone is great, I really want to say it out loud. Like, Muse. I think Mathew Bellamy is fucking genius.


but--- I use the word “but” a lot. I’m a bag of contradictions. I do one thing, but I feel another. I feel one way, but I know something else. I know something, but no one really gives a shit and I am not the worlds prize of articulation. Though, I figured out that Shakespeare came up with the term “articulate” and I think it is fucking amazing, because it is one of my favorite words. Articulation is something I’m not good at, but I strive for. We are connected to him through the use of that word. Sooo forgive my digression!

What I was saying was: BUT, I am entirely suspicious of that emotion. Excitement. Thrill. Euphoria. Elation. I know, am my own critic. But I try to be fair about it. In my own opinion, excitement is the surest sign that you are feeding yourself delusions. Doesn’t this sound terrible? We all want to like being excited. Thrill seekers, I’m totally one of them. But I see that people who constantly seek thrills, then become bored easily, are only trying to be delusional because they don’t like to look at reality. Reality is not boring. But we are pretty delusional, us lot of humans. The introspection can be such a downer. So it seems. But as I have said, I’m a bit emotional and this thought on excitement really gets me excited, haha. Wow, I’m so fucking delusional! This makes me happy, and the excitement might just be another delusion, but oh well. This theory, it isn’t necessarily a law that binds me to an un-exciting life. I think, a very wise person maybe doesn’t get excited, but I certainly do. (I also eat a lot of sugar, smoke sometimes, drink a lot of wine and all sorts of other obviously unhealthy things.) I treasure my bad habits.
I think romance is in the same alley. But I’m still a sucker for a flower.