Flicker of Simplicity

Most of my waking hours these days are filled with books. Lots of books, tomes packed with legal cases and bits of odd hair-splitting analysis. I've always spent a lot of time around books... back as an undergrad, I found that I was one of the few people who ever actually did the reading for all of my classes. Granted, I didn't know any better at the time.

It seems I've spent enough of my time engaged in the cerebral such that there are all sorts of little things I've forgotten along the way. They're small, maybe even akin to a child's simple joys... but it both delights and disturbs me sometimes at how new all of it can seem to me at times... I musn't forget to be human while I'm at my studies.

I ran across a field of grass back to my room tonight, just after the sun went down. I cut through the lawn because I was running downhill, in a hurry, the books on my shelf beckoning menacingly. The sweet smell of grass washed over me, as though it were for the first time, and for a good ten seconds or so, it was all I could think about. Light and sweet, thin and pure, a smell almost as good as the bouquet of flowers I keep in my room, but not as pungent. It didn't smell like fresh-mown grass, either... not sickly sweet or overpowering... this smelled healthy, cool, and alive. I could almost drink it, and no, it didn't 'taste' like wheatgrass...

Maybe it's because I've been eating lousy food for about a month and a half now, but if I could somehow distill the scent of that field into something one could drink, I swear it could be like Olympian nectar.

Gratitude
Since most blogs work in reverse chronological order, the order of my posts is going to look a little strange. Nonetheless, if you're a friend of mine and you happen to read this, know that this one's for you in particular. My posts are unfortunately and probably going to be characterized by the tendency to be pensive at best, and by the display of varying degree's of P.O.'d-ness much of the rest of the time.

That'll be a shock to some of you who, for one reason or another, haven't yet had the occasion to see me either angry or upset. I know there are at least a few of you out there who've only seen me happy. It's really quite simple; you are the reason for it. If I've always seemed happy around you, it's because you've made me happy, and that's not something I ever take for granted. It's not what's usual for me, not what's normal for me. I could be about a third of the way through my life already, and to my great regret, most of those times seem to not have been good ones, either tainted with longing or roiling with outrage, and probably mostly for the fact that my mind tends always to be unsatisfied with my personal state of affairs. Certainly I've tried to place the blame for it, as futile as it might be - invariably I'm led to believe that it's both my fault and not my fault. A simple, almost worthlessly ambiguous response for a question that's sometimes difficult even to phrase or understand, much less answer.

I'm almost resigned to the thought that life's never going to be very happy. Certainly, the average number of joyful hours in the average day amounts to something significantly less than one. Most days go by with nary a minute of real joy, despite any and all efforts. Some people make it a goal in life to be happy. Finding that to have been hopeless, I settle for attempting to fight the good fight instead.

So any time that you remember spending a hour or two in my company, sharing in good conversation and humor, or basking in camaraderie, remember that on that occasion, you truly made my day. Literally hundreds of times better than any old average day. Those are the moments I live for. They don't ever happen without you.