False familiarity?
Aug. 31st, 2004 12:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
missroseroseAll around me darkness gathers,
Fading is the sun that shone;
We must speak of other matters:
You can be me when I'm gone.
--Neil Gaiman
Been in a strange mood this evening, which I don't really know how to describe. From the outside it probably looks like another bout of melancholy, but it's more complex than that. Part of it is feeling like a stranger to my own life, and yet nothing seems particularly strange or unfamiliar. Quite honestly, the above stanza is the closest I've come to describing it. In off moments I find myself wondering something totally unrelated to my current life, such as Winter's coming; should I move the couch from in front of the French doors to in front of the fireplace?, and it takes me a moment to re-orient and realize that I don't own a couch, nor a house with French doors. (However, I have had a very strong image for some time now of a house someplace warm and wet (Washington/Oregon, perhaps?) that has French doors and a patio overlooking a lake - at least I'll know what to look for if/when I'm in the market for one.)
It strikes me that the fact that I'm not entirely happy with my life at this point in time is propelling me to try to live in the future again, though whether this is a plausible future -- or, indeed, any more likely than my actually making it as a singer, which seems to be my other favorite future to live in -- is anyone's guess. But living too much in the future, whether plausible or not, isn't a very good plan.
I'm suddenly desirous of angel hair pasta with tomato sauce and italian sausage, and a good glass of red wine (comfort food, much?). Which means I shall actually have to do some cooking. Drat.
Fading is the sun that shone;
We must speak of other matters:
You can be me when I'm gone.
--Neil Gaiman
Been in a strange mood this evening, which I don't really know how to describe. From the outside it probably looks like another bout of melancholy, but it's more complex than that. Part of it is feeling like a stranger to my own life, and yet nothing seems particularly strange or unfamiliar. Quite honestly, the above stanza is the closest I've come to describing it. In off moments I find myself wondering something totally unrelated to my current life, such as Winter's coming; should I move the couch from in front of the French doors to in front of the fireplace?, and it takes me a moment to re-orient and realize that I don't own a couch, nor a house with French doors. (However, I have had a very strong image for some time now of a house someplace warm and wet (Washington/Oregon, perhaps?) that has French doors and a patio overlooking a lake - at least I'll know what to look for if/when I'm in the market for one.)
It strikes me that the fact that I'm not entirely happy with my life at this point in time is propelling me to try to live in the future again, though whether this is a plausible future -- or, indeed, any more likely than my actually making it as a singer, which seems to be my other favorite future to live in -- is anyone's guess. But living too much in the future, whether plausible or not, isn't a very good plan.
I'm suddenly desirous of angel hair pasta with tomato sauce and italian sausage, and a good glass of red wine (comfort food, much?). Which means I shall actually have to do some cooking. Drat.
