City Lights and Traffic Bites

If you want to read something inspiring, joyful, or wise, I highly reccomend the blogs of Lisa, Nolan, or Amy, respectively and simultaneously (links may be found to the right- yes, I have finally learned my left and right, stop clapping). This post is just me screaming.

Beautiful Blue

by Holly McNarland

From the picture on the wall

To the bed posts that touch them all

This is where I live

This is where I do my screamin'

How do you say

I loved you in so many other ways

This is where I live

This is where I do my screamin'

Dreamin' up so much ugliness

Wakin' up to all this beautiful blue

Beautiful you

From the time I walked in

To the point where we're both arguin'

This is how I live

This is where I start screamin'

How do you say

I've always felt this way

This is where I live

This is what I do best

Dreamin' with so much ugliness

Wakin' up to all this beautiful blue

Beautiful you

Na na na...

Dreamin' under this ugliness

Wakin' up to all this beautiful blue

Beautiful you

Beautiful you

Na na na...

I don't know why that song's stuck in my head. Maybe it's because I've been hanging out in my school's 6th floor lounge for hours by myself, occassionally glancing out at the now dark skies and bright city lights. Some moments, the city looks beautiful. Like when I meet colourful people who aren't afraid to be themselves, aren't afraid to live life, aren't afraid to give. At least, not afraid enough that it holds them back. The snow sparkles, the sun shines. Other times, I hate this place. I feel like Eustace in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, hopelessly trying to chew off a hideous dragon skin that has become a part of me but actually isn't mine. This city is my skin, and I can't seem to leave it behind. Don't know what the bracelet cutting off circulation to Eustace's arm represents, apart from inescapable pain. Inescapable. Pain. Oh, it's my coursework. Man, why am I training to become a psychologist when I'd make such a darn fine psychoanalyst? Just look at the free-associations I'm capable of with enough sleep-deprivation and hunger!

Help, God. I have to conduct a narrative interview in 25 minutes and I can't do it like this. I'm not even sure where this, whatever it is, came from. I felt fine earlier. Something that I ate? No, not ate. Not physical food. Something I consumed: information, a poisoned connection, a broken relation. And something I neglected to consume: love, truth, air. 15 minutes left. I need to go prepare. Here I go. Please go with me.