A/N -- Hello, sassies. :)
Credit to Evy on this one.
Algebraically, the slope of a hill can be determined using x's, y 's, and calculation. One can rationally collect data to arrive at a rational answer. However, algebra does not apply when I am sitting on top of a hill, flicking cigarette after cigarette down to point B (in reference to points A and C ). There, I do not calculate the immense change in my entire view on life. Galinda and I have rekindled our spiritual connection to nature with a few long walks and good sober fun.
We had our doubts that rolling down the hills would be nearly as exciting sober as it is inebriated. Wrapped like homeless Lurlinemas presents, we tied our cloaks up tight and closed our eyes.
It seems that when you let go of yourself in such a childish fashion, you spin yourself free of pressure. Suddenly, you no longer live in a country where the government spying over you, and every small movement you make can protect you from the enemy, all the while your country is letting the enemy in the back door. You are under no pressure to make something of yourself before the rest of the world beats you to it.
You no longer think you're a bad person, and even begin to like your own spirit. You spin and spin until you are cycled dry of damp dread. As you lose speed, you open your arms out to land on your back, and end up looking at a sky that's shaking as it hovers so close over top of you. The trees are moving, the clouds vibrate, and there's grass in your hair. You are forced to acknowledge the colors that swirl together over your ruddy face because you couldn't possibly remove yourself from this moment in time.
Moments should only be calculated by how long it took you to realize that when you're standing on the edge of fall and spring, darks and lights seem to have more depth. I have resolved to walk more, sit more, and smoke more all in the company of grass.
I have been watching myself from afar as if it is some only barely acquainted girl I see in her own cubby hole of a social circle. I have been trying to figure her out: whether she is being bold or self-destructive; brave or self-centered. She seems to be struggling to break free of its overbearing bonds. Once escaping the chains of fidelity in her own mind, she is suffocating in routine.
But in the hoopla of our adolescence, we forgot that we only occupy a small fraction of history. Bigger things are hitting the fan around us, and I can only become irritatingly depressed at the lack of importance we as a people can place upon them.
People can be such cowards. It seems to me that hiding from adversity is such a tragic trend in us, and it can be found in all of us.
To face such a statement is to face a truth we all know but ignore: it is easier to blot out the blemishes of past emotions, past lives, and past relations; than to submit oneself wholly into feeling the absence of the aforementioned. What we seem to have not discovered is that the only tool we have against the angst of absence is the ability to submerse ourselves into those emotions. It is difficult to explain, but impossibly easy to understand. It is allowing oneself to feel and endure pain, rather than attempting to dull it.
This applies not only to the ghost of pubescent past, but the challenge of the present.