Imagine this: you have just had what in your mind is the best weekend of your life. Star wars, icecream sandwiches made with poptarts, an adorable boy with a mess of floppy red hair telling you he likes your freckles...okay maybe that's just my fantasy weekend. (Alec Baldwin is there riding a pink unicorn that is galloping in place). The weekend ends, and suddenly as if it hadn't even happened, you're sitting in your dark cave room, listening to Bon Iver, alone. Which should be fine, you like alone, and Bon Iver, and you aren't missing the weekend or wishing it hadn't ended...but you still feel strange. You start to search your contacts to call someone, a friend, your mom...you realize you don't have anything to say to any of them. You begin to think, you realize you have nothing to say to yourself, either. Why haven't I gotten anything done this weekend, self? you ask. There's things that need doing, papers that need writing, songs that need singing, why have you done nothing but have useless fun, self? Beth/Rest, is the song that's currently playing on your computer as you continue to feel confused, and hungry, but mostly confused.
Excuse my poor writing, lack of real depth or understanding of the root cause of the true human condition. I'm not even sure that sentence makes any sense, but the meaning behind it goes a little something like this: I don't know why you feel so depressed after great things happen, but I hope you can find a bit of comfort in the fact that I feel exactly the same way, too.
No comments:
Post a Comment