Seneca Awakenings

My dreams, mostly turbulent and absurd, are exactly just that. I remember them in spurts - a miracle when I actually do dream, and then I can't remember half of them, and the ones that I do remember I can usually remember in great detail and even feel emotionally connected to that decompressing of my mind.

Have you ever lost something or couldn't figure something out, and then you found the answer within your dream? The watch you had lost the day before, you found in the desk drawer in your dream. A method to the madness of some situation was revealed. The answer to how you were to begin an essay.

Well, I dreamt of Seneca.
It might have been because I reread the entirety of On the Shortness of Life before the sea fog drifted in, and that was all.

Or it might have been my mind sorting out my subconscious.

Either way, [in my dream] as I sat directly across from Seneca (in a toga, mind you), he stared into me and said "Therefore,".

It was as though I was supposed to finish his sentence, so I continued with his very own words, "it is better to conquer our grief than to deceive it."

He continues to say:
"For if it has withdrawn, being merely beguiled by pleasures and preoccupations, it starts up again and from its very respite gains force to savage us. But the grief that has been conquered by reason is calmed for ever. I am not therefore going to prescribe for you those remedies which I know many people have used, that you divert or cheer yourself by a long or pleasant journey abroad, or spend a lot of time carefully going through your accounts and administering your estate, or constantly be involved in some new activity. All those things help only for a short time; they do not cure grief but hinder it. But I would rather end it than distract it... Return now to these studies and they will keep you safe. They will comfort you, they will delight you; and if they genuinely penetrate your mind, never again will grief enter there, or anxiety, or the distress caused by futile and pointless suffering. Your heart will have room for none of these, for to all other failings it has long been closed. Those studies are your most dependable protection, and they alone can snatch you from Fortune's grip."

I disagree, my dear Seneca. Because nothing is more real than a human. Let not our grief be squandered by our selfishness to be rid of something. Unless where a "good riddance" is due, oughtn't we equate our grief to past feelings, as a completion of feelings, as a tribute to the sincerity, faith, and genuine quest for an eternity of them. Grieving only attests to the realness, and the realization that the realness is no longer attainable.

Why do people hold candlelight vigils, wakes, or scatter ashes throughout foreign terrains? Because they are still holding on to the sweetness and realness of what is no longer.

Every occasion calls for a ceremony. Whether that is toasting to a meal of cornflake cereal, listening to the organ playing while the sun sets in a dreamy sky, or the death of something so very near and dear. Because even in the cessation, it still lives on.

Dear Seneca,
Please never enter my dreams or subconscious ever again. I had the most fitful of dreams.

3 Children in a Fountain

As I settled into my library nook, feet perched on the windowsill and a full view of the water-less fountain, I observed a rare scene of children running and jumping into the blue-painted garden tub. I think they found an even greater joy sans the flowing water.

The first kid jumped into the fountain, the class clown, no doubt, and then his posse of muck-ups and other hyper-active kids followed suit. Soon enough, the teacher approached and found muse in this delightful scene of children jumping about in this water-less vessel. Chuckling to himself and probably imagining my same thought of had there actually been water in the fountain.

It wasn't until another teacher approached that the first instructor grudgingly called his following to ascend the nearby steps to another place on their agenda. The moment had passed.

Tomorrow, the children will not remember their triumph of splashing about in a water-less fountain. They will not remember this small victory. If they hadn't done this, it wouldn't have been detrimental or held them back in life. Either way, they won't tell their parents that it was the highlight of their day. They won't remember.  No, but I will.

And as I observed this happening, I listened to "Dash" by Snow Patrol. Oddly enough, I can't find the song anywhere else through my computer resources except that it is on my iPhone. Basically, the entire 3 minutes is the sound of children at a playground and distant chatter.

AND while I was searching for the song on youtube to link to this blog, I found this strange gem that sent me into unpleasant spouts of chortling laughter. The people on the quiet floor of the library hate me right now.

Coffee competition

I've discovered O'Henry's coffee competition, located a mere 3 yards away: Food Court Coffee. Now, it's nothing fancy, but it is a decent cup of Joe, maybe even Joseph-worthy.

Take that, overpriced and line time coffee.

12oz cost me $2.39, as opposed to the over $5.
Holla

Laundry Woes

Dear Samford,
I apologize for the stench that will soon follow me around in the next few weeks. I'm sorry that the two washers and dryers you provided just didn't cut it for us thousands of girls, many of whom do four loads at a time. Though I'm not quite sure why some do four, when we hardly even have enough time for two. I put my clothes in one, and my sheets in the other. Bam! No separation of the colors or fabrics. Keep it simple, people. Keep it efficient.

We need more. At least ONE more washer. The dryers are ginormous and can hold three loads at a time.

I'm hearing traces of last year's 2am washing endeavors. A nice book and a lawn chair to complete my stake out.

Here, before the door locks, I'm just going to slip a few things into your load...  I'll even do your load for you.  I just need some clean underwear.

Step Sing: breaking wind

Dear fellow step singers,
Please stop farting.

My gas mask hasn't arrived in the mail yet.

It's fine. I do it too. But not in an enclosed room for three hours straight.

Own it.

Blarney Monopoly

All I have to say is that I wish I were the one who invented "Kissing the Blarney Stone" to receive the Gift of the Gab.

What a monopoly Blarney Castle has, and what profits!

Would Americans pay money to kiss a stone in their own homeland? If the actual Plymouth Rock goes missing, don't look at me...

Greetings Suck: never again

Sit down next to someone you don't know in your new class:
Hi, I'm so-in-so. What's your name?
cool. What year are you?
cool. What's your major?
cool. And what do you want to do with that?
cool.

You never speak to them again unless introduced outside of class or at church, and then all of a sudden you have so much in common.


THE QUESTIONS WE REALLY WANT TO ASK:

..... And what is your definition of life?
What mantra do you live by?
Where do you see yourself in this pattern of life, or is it even a pattern to you?
What makes you tick?
What pisses you off?
What is the worst book you've ever read, and was it only because it didn't have a happy ending?
Which character were you?
Which character are you?
Would you consider yourself capable of staging a coup?

If only we would delve differently. Is it that I'm afraid, or is it that I know that you would be? Are we so complacent to not alarm people? And, AND why do people not accept this sincere gesture to celebrate in the feast of what I like to call actually-life-actualization.

Nice to meet you. Did you do the reading for today?
cool.