Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing: Only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.
Wednesday, 14 March 2012
Tuesday, 13 March 2012
Three of the many things I wondered about, randomly:
1. What's the grue in gruesome?
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2. Why is it easier to ask than to look it up?
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3. Note the following exchange:
Me: Will I be okay?
M: Yes.
Me: How do you know?
M: Because you have to be.
Which brings me to No. 3.
Why does hearing that I have to be okay immediately negate all the positive feelings I have about the process of getting there?
Monday, 12 March 2012
Notes to myself
Twice in the past two days, I've lost my temper with people who've asked me to make my mind up between two alternatives 'and then just be happy'.
Here's what I don't understand: Why is it so hard to comprehend that both alternatives may be equally desirable, both may be impossible, and therefore my final decision will always involve a little ambivalence?
Surely accepting that is the first step to choosing either way?
Still alive, still kicking, still screaming.
6 months to 30.
Where's the equanimity I was promised?
Where's the serenity?
Does it not come to some people?
Or is something horrifying going to happen in the next six months that's going to flatline my insides?!
Sunday, 11 March 2012
So I'm back from my travels home.
Physically, at least.
My head? Not so much. It's home, and on campus, and in the past, and several different futures. My thoughts are awhirr. Plenty of spewing to come on this blog over the next couple of days.
Random notes from my travels:
The taxi driver who drove me to the airport maintained that he was shy and introverted and useless and crap at learning, but maintained a three hour conversation with me from house to Heathrow, recounted the basic rules of Thai grammar, which he is learning, and became so absorbed in the finer points of the conversation that he missed the exit to the terminal and drove us into Surrey before realising. Somehow, I can - and always do - only maintain interesting and deeply personal conversations with people who profess to hating conversation. Why is that? With gregarious people, I morph into these other silent types. With the silent types, I become gregarious and somehow they do too.
Why?
My sister (note to self: Must do a seperate post about my sister one day) came to collect me at the airport. The first thing I saw upon arrival was a row of taxi drivers standing with placcards scribbled with the names of their charges held up against their chests, and all eyes - yes, ALL EYES - turned sideways towards my sister. I was tempted to take a photo, but she broke the spelling by breaking into a loud and breathless squeal of welcome. Much to the delight of said taxi drivers. I made sure I bumped my suitcase into their legs.
We climbed into a cab and I'd just started telling her how I got lost on the way to the airport, when the taxi driver muttered, half to us and half to his steering wheel - umm.... I don't know the way...
My sister gave him cheerful directions which he followed to the letter.
I growled at him and barked everytime we past a road sign, which he ignored.
A week at home, a fight with Mum, an anniversary celebrated, a research proposal submitted, and now I'm back in England. Outside, the sky is blue and beautiful, but it's cold and windy, and the cat who's been lolling on the road outside our house has been inching (without uprighting itself) towards the relative comfort underneath the cars in the parking lot.
Physically, at least.
My head? Not so much. It's home, and on campus, and in the past, and several different futures. My thoughts are awhirr. Plenty of spewing to come on this blog over the next couple of days.
Random notes from my travels:
The taxi driver who drove me to the airport maintained that he was shy and introverted and useless and crap at learning, but maintained a three hour conversation with me from house to Heathrow, recounted the basic rules of Thai grammar, which he is learning, and became so absorbed in the finer points of the conversation that he missed the exit to the terminal and drove us into Surrey before realising. Somehow, I can - and always do - only maintain interesting and deeply personal conversations with people who profess to hating conversation. Why is that? With gregarious people, I morph into these other silent types. With the silent types, I become gregarious and somehow they do too.
Why?
My sister (note to self: Must do a seperate post about my sister one day) came to collect me at the airport. The first thing I saw upon arrival was a row of taxi drivers standing with placcards scribbled with the names of their charges held up against their chests, and all eyes - yes, ALL EYES - turned sideways towards my sister. I was tempted to take a photo, but she broke the spelling by breaking into a loud and breathless squeal of welcome. Much to the delight of said taxi drivers. I made sure I bumped my suitcase into their legs.
We climbed into a cab and I'd just started telling her how I got lost on the way to the airport, when the taxi driver muttered, half to us and half to his steering wheel - umm.... I don't know the way...
My sister gave him cheerful directions which he followed to the letter.
I growled at him and barked everytime we past a road sign, which he ignored.
A week at home, a fight with Mum, an anniversary celebrated, a research proposal submitted, and now I'm back in England. Outside, the sky is blue and beautiful, but it's cold and windy, and the cat who's been lolling on the road outside our house has been inching (without uprighting itself) towards the relative comfort underneath the cars in the parking lot.
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