Not a day for writing

Not much has happened today, and not many thoughts have passed through my mind. It has been a slow day, a sleepy day. I am not really in the mood to write anything at all. I should be thinking more, and about things that matter. But it is so easy to shut off the mind, or divert my thoughts into channels that are mere distractions. Awareness of distraction only brings about a feeling of helplessness, but makes no real difference.

Why is wanting change not enough to cause change?

Dream a little dream

Picture a copper pool. Not a pool of molten copper. A swimming pool constructed of untarnished, beaten copper, filled with the clearest water imaginable. The water is like crystal, scattering the warm sunlight into a hundred rainbows as if diamonds are suspended within. Ducking my head under the surface, I see hundreds of bubbles slowly making their way up. I dive down below, surprisingly unhindered by buoyancy, to find their source. In the depths of the pool, still lit by reddish light reflected off the beautiful walls, I see fish. Golden-red fish with flashy fins and swirly tails swimming lazily among the greenest green algal fronds. 

What is it in our brains that allows us to imagine the kind of beauty we have never seen in reality? I've heard that you cannot dream of a face you have never seen, and that seems perfectly logical. So how is it that I dream of golden fish in pools made of beaten copper? Do we construct scenes from various different sights and sensations that we actually did experience? It could indeed be that my dream was an amalgam of the feeling of being in the water on a warm summer day, of seeing sunlight reflect off beaten copper vessels filled with water, and fish I may have seen in a book, or on television.

It is infinitely exciting to speculate on the mechanisms by which the mind creates these visions. From what little I know of how the brain works, and it really is very little indeed, the answers should we find them, are likely to leave me awestruck. Perhaps some people have already found the answers, or are finding them now. I, for one, hope to someday understand why I dream the way I do. I do wonder, though, whether the answer to that question will be like what Asimov speculated the ultimate explanation of humour would be (Jokester, ca. 1956).

How wonderful and terrible is the human mind, and how magnificent and dreadful its fancies.

The weather has changed

It is warmer this week than last week, significantly so. The sun is sunnier, and the grass is actually visible. New leaves are emerging on all the trees, and flowers on many. My neighbours, who 10 days ago were shivering in 2 layers, are now leaving their apartments clad in short pants and sandals. Graduate students far and wide are leaving their lab cocoons in favour of the outside world. Bared midriffs and unshaved legs are roaming wild and free on campus.

A few days ago, I opened my window for an extended period for the first time in 4 months. I immediately regretted it, as it was raining and a bevy of insects crawled in under the screen seeking dry shelter. The regret didn't last long, however. The smell of rain-drenched soil can make up for most trifling inconveniences.

While everyone else is rejoicing in the sunshine, I merely tolerate it. The warm days of rain interspersed with cloudy sunshine are far more preferable, and less monotonous, than brilliant sunlight. This is mostly because the temperature is so much more comfortable on those days, but also because their ever-changing nature reflects my mood far better than constant brightness.

I love the sunlight most when I am surrounded by grass, or tall leafy trees. Plants, despite their muteness, seem to radiate a liveliness in the presence of sunlight that I can't help but pick up on. It is nearly impossible to look at a tree in the sun and not feel good about it.

Despite the rising mercury, I find myself looking forward to summer.

A belated entry

There is much to be said for consistency. Consistency is a sign of discipline, and discipline is vital to an organized life. An organized life may not sound too attractive, but it really is easier on your mind than wading through chaos every single day.

I wish for consistency, and for discipline. I think it will help me. Right now I don't have much of either. That's why I've ended up almost missing the very second day of the daily writing I promised myself. Catching it at the tail end here.

I think it'll get better, no matter what history tells me.

The seeking of a Challenge

I need to write. This blog was originally for writing deep thoughts, back when I thought I had deep thoughts. The name was different too, which is why the domain name has nothing to do with the blog name anymore. The problem with setting yourself up to write deep thoughts is that, once you decide that, no thought really seems deep enough. So there is the enthusiastic first post, and that's it. Nothing come after that because everything you actually want to write is dismissed as "they won't think that's deep."

That's stupid. Writing is good, especially if you write as if no-one except you is going to read this. On the internet, of course, it's best to be somewhat discreet since it is inevitable that someday some poor mush is going to stumble onto your page while surfing mindlessly, probably on a bender of sorts. So I'm not saying I intend to write everything and anything here. This is not a journal, and I never really was any good at keeping a journal anyway.

I will write everyday though, which is the only thing journal-like about this. I will write every day because writing is a challenge. It is good for you, and it is a great way of expressing yourself, but it is also challenging. It is challenging to think of things to write, and it is challenging to write without thinking and then resist the urge to delete everything you just types out because it sucks so much.

Yes, this will probably suck, mainly because I'm not going to think overmuch while writing.

Am I ruling out all possibility of anything halfway serious being written here? No, not at all. But that is not the intention. Note the distinction between intention and finished product, poor-mush-on-a-bender if you're reading this

Therapeutic? Maybe. A therapist I've been seeing (I refuse to call him "my therapist". I don't have a therapist. I just occasionally stroll into a therapist's office and sit there for an hour) has suggested that I need challenge in life. He think I'm so bored with most of my life that I'm withdrawing from the few parts of it that actually are productive. So this is my challenge, may it be long-lived and effective. I will write every day.

I will write as if there is no reader.

But if you're reading this, welcome :)