Puzzling.

I am having an extremely philosophical day . . . so what shall I do? I have to do homework, practice my instrument, check out some websites, finish SAT prep shit, and make sure my chores are done. Who has time for tangible tasks when your mind doesn't want to stay home, but climb mountains and dive into depths of the ocean?

Everything is a puzzle piece in your life, correct? Some are infinitesimally small and others are key stones and corners that hold together everything else. Others are lost in the infinite middle . . .
A few days ago we lost a boy. He was someone I never personally knew and had never even been closer than ten feet from. Yet he held a sort of esteem in my mind, for each time he passed by (at band competitions and foot ball games, he was from a nearby high school) his friends would begin to chant his name, and would participate in this. He would turn aroung and give us a large grin and an over-the-top wave. This boy was worth cheering for  . . . why is he gone?
I cried. I must admit that I did. I don't cry. I didn't know him well. But it felt like a natural and very appropriate response. It felt right.
I was at county band, and his empty chair sat directly in front of me. I tied teal ribbon around my horn for remembrance. And I becoming blissfully encouraged that evey day has meaning that only few people tap into. We grow and learn and die, and that is all that is written in stone.

I have been going through a period of awareness that I am profoundly single. Is this the right thing to talk about after the gravity of my prior subject? I think yes. People need people, among other necessities, especially when they have too many thoughts to hold in. I have been in a stage of little emotion for too long now. Holding in my feelings makes me safe and bland for the most part, but it also makes me unstable to new stimuli. I heard a new song (new to me) that seemed to strike and leave me breathless and overwhelmed. I was on a bus listening to it for the fourth time when it slammed into me. I felt like I was being dragged into a tumultuous vacuum of thoughts.
There was no way out.
I did not want out.
I allowed myself to be swept away and into it. I nearly cried out. Tears pricked my eyes. Fear and consistent chills gripped my spine. Numbingly soft, the simple lyrics painted worlds I'd never known existed across my mind and body.
Who am I?
I asked.
What do I do?
I asked.
How does anything ever make sense?
I sobbed.
My head rolls back on my neck now just recollecting. Soft silence fills my bedroom. I feel dizzy and awake and tired and aware.
What in hell am I waiting for?
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
.
.
.
.
//The Blower's Daughter- Damien Rice//