20 November, 2006

11 august, 2005: books

i love the library.
the way the books are lined up so perfectly, row after row
each in its exact numbered place
the b's never fraternize with the r's;
the music anthologies don't associate with the science periodicals.
walking past the shelves is like drowning in knowledge
words and words and words of things i don't know, things i want to soak in and absorb and assimilate
i love the slightly musty smell,
the fragrance of crisp pages and learning

going through the music section, i feel like a young child in a candy shop (excuse the cliche)
staring dazed and amazed at the genius all around me,
arms full of manuscripts and pieces
the music of a lifetime

i wish my brain was more like that
organized and smart and full of references

i wish i could retain knowledge and understand the world and be on top of everything

instead, i'm sitting here in my pajamas, thoroughly unprepared for my last final, but not giving too much of a care either way.
i would rather work on my new lalo
or start a russian novel
or clean up and move out, for the third time
i need to train my brain to concentrate.

i've deleted several of my past entries
i don't want to bury myself in memories, hurt and revenge
i'd like to think i'm better than that.
this does not constitute that my feelings are shallow
i just don't want to get caught up in my sorrow, when the world is still growing so fitfully around me

i'm okay,
as a person.
i'm not the best thing to have traversed this planet
but i've realized i can accept myself, in my imperfection
i used to think i wasn't fully entitled to love the violin, because i wasn't good enough. loving my cheap inabilities would simply invalidate my character.
but that doesn't change things
i still love my violin, i still love music with everything inside of me
whether or not i'll ever be 'good enough'
and for what i have, i can play decently. considering that music is not my life, that i have only myself to keep me going now, i am alright.
i may not swim anymore, but i go running here and now. and though i'm not a 'runner' or hold great long distance records or anything at all, it's still something i do.
and though school has become a general compedium of misery for me over this past year, publishing me naked in my stupidity and holding me under a cloud of inescapable blemish
at least i try.

i may not be the prettiest or the funniest or the most talented, but i hold some claim to each of those titles, and i am happy with myself. i am happy that i am not a transparent projection, a questionable standard of perfection. i still cry sometimes, i still get caught up in my never-ending depression
sometimes i forget to say my prayers, sometimes i have other things to beg forgiveness for
other times i seem too loud, too boisterous, or even too removed, too conservative
out of place
but it's the small parts of me, even the strange ones
that give me my character
and overall,
i think it's all right.
even if a certain person hasn't found it in their hearts to truly love me for that

someday
somewhere
somehow
someone
will.

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