A million bright ambassadors of morning

Well, today is one of those days when I am full of stuff to say. I haven't had one of those in a week or so, and it's a welcome relief from the boring I-did-this I-did-that bilge.

I realized in french class after Kelsey and I each did one of those things where you basically write down what comes into your head exactly how we're different. She typically writes about a downward spiral into deep dark despair. (The title of her forgotten blog attests to this.) I always write about coming back out again. I am, therefore, optimistic and depressed, a depressed optimist, or something of that ilk. When doing math problems with integers, I secretly cheer every time the answer works out to be positive.

I guess that's why I like a certain type of music, a certain type of poetry. Kelsey says my music is depressing and occasionally dark, but I find it so uplifting. (That's why me crying while listening to music is weird. I don't cry during the sad parts, I cry during the parts where everything becomes beautiful again.)

Well, that was definetly an epiphany you needed to hear about. Let me see, what else happened? Kaj and I spent science scribbling in my drug workshop notebook, but nothing can be published here except for some of my opinions on death. I won't start that now. No one is in the house and someone outside is mowing the lawn, so I tried to sing again, but I really need a capo. I have a very limited range.

What is that whistling outside? It's like singing metal. (And the weird thing is, I can identify the note. It's a high high F.)

I have to find that roll of film from Vancouver. It's driving me absolutely insane. I also have to find my guitar folder.

You know, you as readers only know what I choose to tell you. I could have typed a whole unflattering paragraph about your faults, then deleted it, and you would never know. Yes, I know it's a brilliant observation, but I just thought I'd get you thinking. If any of you ever went through my folders or my computer files or basically anywhere I put ideas I've written, you would find stuff that was a little more true. (Of course, most of writing is lies anyway.) That's why I try to keep people from going through my things. That's why I won't even let you look at my agenda. I don't want anyone to find out what a freak I truly am.

Or am I a freak?

I think maybe two, three of the people reading this are following me at this point. Okay, what do you want me to talk about?

I could just type anything. Sit back and let my fingers do the work. Yes, that sounds like fun.

There goes that lawnmower again. Interesting how people take such pride in something like a garden. We like to be actually helping things live and grow for a change, I expect. But we're selecting what lives and grows and what does not, playing God. Always dreaming of more power, we humans. I suppose that is what separates us from the others, but I predict that will also be our downfall. Too ambitious, like Caesar. My father does not pull out the weeds; he allows everything to live as it wishes. Were that there were more people like my father. Were that I was like my father. I sometimes wish I was a tree because trees are so much more beautiful, so very much nobler and greater than we, whatever we think. But there I am dreaming of power, hoping to climb up the ladder I denounced a mere two hours before. We are never satisfied. If we were satisfied, we would be like cows in a field, eating their grass. Not a bad life, to be satisfied, happy, and ignorant. Knowledge is truly the greatest burden, and this is why being able to see the future would be so terrible. We are never even satisfied with the knowledge we have, and this pushes us to be greater and greater than ever. But when you get to the top, where do you go next? All I see is a long way down.

By the way, since when is Kaj in the junior play?

Beannachd Leibh.
Posted by Eilinn MacCallum, some random day in may.

From this star on my arm I draw inspiration.