The Patron Saint of Losing Sleep

The world is open and empty
No longer am I penned in with my peers
Forced to stay until we are deemed “grown up”
No longer am I trapped in a larger pen
Listening to voices on loudspeakers
Repeating over and over “find your way out”
This is what some like to call “the big bad world”
They are right. It is a big world.
But the only bad places are the ones that don’t fit
And the only reason we have to keep moving is to find that fit
Be it some place, some group, some one.
So keep moving through the open and empty places.
Find your peers, wherever they have spread.

And I must urge you not to stop until you come to the conclusion that the world is truly a good place.

I experienced a night on Sunday that almost perfectly captured the feel that A Midsummer Night’s Dream used to give me. The whole thing was surreal. It was dark enough that two young people could wander around unnoticed in the sprawling suburbia that is northeastern Ohio, not that anyone was out and about anyway. The spaces we occupied and the streets we walked seemed infinite, yet they folded in upon themselves at the same time. It was almost like a space time slip, one of those anomallies where perceived time in a finite amount of space freezes, or moves slower, when a subject doesnt watch a clock it’s kind of hard to tell if either or niether is happening. As if to make a point of this departure from reality, a sort of balmy… Not really fog… What’s the word here? Well, Anyways that happened, and then to my amazement, despite walking around in woody suburbralscape all night, I had not one mosquito bite anywhere on my body. There’s more than likely a logical explanation for this, but considering that just last week I was nearly eaten alive sitting outside until just after sundown (twice), I can’t help but incorporate it into my perception of what exactly was going on that night. If I come up with an explanation for everything i experienced, the night will cease to be strange and wonderful and become merely a result of a few chance variables and conditions. Id rather think of this as a quantum event.

This sucks. My well of writing inspiration has been dry for a month. Someone bring me a divining rod.

Drifting back into my own world.

When women cease to fascinate me? I doubt it. That would mean that the very color has bled out of my life to the last. I pity the man who no longer has the ability to take pleasure in the company of women. It means that he has lost the ability to see each interaction as a new and totally unique experience, to be learned as each personality is revealed piece by piece. A man without a love of women sees them as a thing, to be treated in the exact same fashion no matter who it is. They are easily identified by the look that a girl gets when she knows she isnt understood by the man standing at her side. There is no click, there is no real fun. I could never take part in such behaviour. Each new acquaintance requires a different perspective, a different approach, and a completely different method for interacting if she is to be understood on the level that she wishes to be. It is a chase that I shall never cease to relish.

psych-facts:

But if there are any advice blog who might want to help, reblog this and put your links below. 

And if you are seeking advice and you happened to be someone who I didn’t respond to, feel free to ask them instead. 

I am a semester away from finishing my psych major, and two away from my criminology minor. I can help where possible.

Man, I was doing well for a while, not just reposting shit, actually making this a solid record of my work, and then when the new year hit it started sneaking in again. Now it’s taking over. Well no more! If I dont absolutely love that shit, I’m not reblogging it.

Never underestimate the strength of your father. Even when he’s getting close to fifty.