I am feeling rather existential today.
I find I am caught up in the wonder of what it is to differ between one moment of life and another based entirely upon one's perception at that instant. I am reminded of Einstein's quote expressing the basis of relativity: "Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute and it feels like an hour. Speak with a beautiful woman for an hour and it feels like a minute. That's relativity." Today has been a cerebral smorgasbord of the relative.
Little sleep can often do this -- but how is one to sleep when your mind is ablaze with stress, poetry, friendship, good company, drinks, dancing, and a pair of all-too-innocent glacial eyes? Who wishes to sleep when the world around you churns with the excitement of a new day and young life (despite my constant proclamations of the contrary)?
As I and my good friend Scoob stepped out of his vehicle, pipes fuming, eyes weary, dreading the next rehearsal that gave us but a couple of hours for some down time, a child rode by us on his bicycle. I was suddenly struck by his energy (and not merely because he sported a lurid green mustache in light of the St. Patrick's holiday). He pressed down on the petals with a vigor that I remembered having myself when it felt like I was whirring past the pathetic, stationary objects that could not begin to imagine my mercurial speed. His smile was absolute, his eyes wide. But now, being older, being taller, having actually traveled at great velocities, he seems so slow. The end of the block looked to be a million miles away for his hobbit-esque journey. It was so strange and curious, to recall how the gallop of my own bicycling felt at that age, and then to witness the reality of it: all the enthusiasm and awe of the bi-wheeled flight existed only within, and that from the outside the spectacle wasn't incredibly epic after all.
My waxing is masturbatory today, I suppose. Oh well -- one is allowed a reprieve from the dialectal at times.
Perhaps it is because life seems to be going awkwardly well at a time when I assumed nothing could ever go right again. Perhaps it is because I am so tired. Perhaps it is because I am being challenged artistically, socially, and emotionally. Whatever it is, it seems as though time has simultaneously slowed and sped up, that people are both highlighted in wonderful unique lights of their own while being pieces of the visual bacchanal of my new social atmosphere, which is both encouraging and humbling.
All right, cranial emissions finished. I'll write more constructively next time.