"You can't take a picture of this. It's already gone."

Friday, March 1, 2013

A Moment of Melancholy (amidst thousands of others, of course)

I have come to realize that
last nights post was the result of sleeping drugs
and a spectacular amount of angst. Retrospectively,
it is both hilarious and embarrassing. I'll leave it up that
way if one day I become a politician, I can be humiliated for
the rest of my life by the random 12 of you that keep reading this.
I think this speaks more of your terrible taste then my terrible writing
but honestly, it is your eyes you are choosing to sully.

I miss my cats. I know they
aren't really mine, that I didn't buy them,
or the food for them, but every time I come
around, they permanently reside in my arms or on
my shoulders, purring like motor boats and sleeping on
me. In the place where I live, the chihuahua does not cut it,
not when you know what it is like to have a purring soft animal
take up residents on your pillow next to your face and to realize
that it loves you for tonight. And then waking up to it staring at you
like a creeper. Cats are masters (mistresses?) of subtlety, while this
dog simply screams loudly for your attention.
I am an animal elitist. OH GOD.

I had a teacher in high school who
taught philosophy to me. He taught Latin to multiple others
but due to my lack of knowledge in the area, he refused me
entry into his Latin class my senior year of high school. I was not
amused. I have never been what one would consider to be a serious
student but Latin was one of the few areas I enjoyed and excelled as much as
I could. Which also included spending money on tutors. Life was frustrating at
In any case, he taught philosophy to me. I had him the period after lunch and
I can remember being irritated all the time, because there were a million 'aha' moments
that were taken over by my overwhelming urge to sleep off my lunch. He let me come in early
to the classroom sometimes and ask him questions about the homework or talk to him
about my recent religion crises. I miss him dearly.
At any time I saw him, when he saw I was in pain, before or after I graduated
he saw the truth of who I was.
And he died.
Not too long ago.
I don't remember him every moment or even every day
but sometimes I see my philosophy book on the shelf
or The Reluctant Warrior on netflix
or some word makes me think of him
or I will write something
because he loved my writing.

And he's here for a minute.

So thank you for caring about me, Mr. Hoffman.
You make me want to do better.

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