I'm sitting by myself in this drafty old house in South Minneapolis, it's late at night, and I'm alone with my thoughts. I graduated three or so days ago, and I don't feel any different (except having to hourly convince myself that I don't have any homework hanging over my head), and I'm not exactly sure what to do with all of this free time. It feels like any normal Christmas break, but come January, I might have to realize that I am in the real world now. But what does that even mean? I'm in the "real world"? I can feel the responsibility of adulthood looming before me like a Mack truck. Now I'm supposed to grow up. But I don't think it's going to happen.
I have this strange . . . . restlessness. It's been a chronic problem for a couple years now. When I am alone with my thoughts or just myself, I find a strange sense of "inquietud" rising within me. Perhaps, I will spend my whole life trying to find a word or two that might begin to describe this bizarre restlessness. I don't feel it when I am insanely busy and overcommitted, with hardly a spare minute in the day. . . .rather, I feel it when I am alone, watching the sunset, drinking tea, and just pondering why things are the way they are. Am I the only one who ponders the reasons for things? I'm sure there's other people who wonder . . .someday we'll all find each other and form a Facebook group or something. Today, I was even wondering what this area called Minneapolis looked like two or three hundred years ago, before settlers ever came and took over the land. I bet the area around the river must have been beautiful, covered by dense forests. I suppose there were only Native Americans who knew this land back then. Now, it's a tragic concrete jungle, where the Native Americans have only a small fraction of the community to call their own; and people are separated by concrete, glass, wood and everything else. What does it mean to be truly connected to another person? I've oft pondered the connection between a man and a woman, and what an enigma it is actually; but there is also something mysterious about the connection between two friends, and the sharing of lives and experiences. The friends to whom I am closest lately are the ones who know my everyday thoughts and ponderings. I talk to them nearly every day, and they are sometimes my lifeline to sanity, by reminding me who I am. (One of them has been in Africa for almost a week, and will be there for two and a half more, and I am rather missing her. I hope that she is experiencing phenomenal things there.)
I think I need to sleep now. I always write on here late at night; and even though it is my most pensive time of day, it's also my most sporadic and weird time of day. Sleep . . . .
