The Diary of Queen Mothy |
Some Random Thoughts By Sam written @ 4:09 PM on January 26, 2003 Here's an entry on passing random thoughts I've had recently: I've been thinking a little on the night o' esoteric from back in December for some reason this week. It's not often that I have random thoughts or passing notions on things like that, so at this point I'm seeing it as some kind of sign. Every time I have thoughts like that and discount them, something poignant always happens at a later date. I have an uncanny ability to dwell on a scene in a movie, for instance, sort of "calling upon it," and then it appears on television within the next 72 hours without fail. And it equally amazes me how 80% of the time I catch it while watching or passing by a telelvision, which is something I rarely do. The other 20% of the time I hear someone else talking about it, particularly the scene my memory kept calling upon. It's a damned ability I seem to have that I've been studying since I was in the first grade and has steadily developed as some sort of subconscious psychic power. So I have decided, as part of my package of New Year's resolutions, that I cannot ignore my intuition anymore. But I heavily digress. The point is that I've been thinking back on the night o' esoteric, and I have a feeling something is calling me back for the trance. While in my deep pondering moments and intense study of unusual habits and old fashioned tastes I seemingly possess, I know that I have an old soul yet have no subconscious yearning to know about my past lives. I think they would be neat to know about, yes, but a deeply moving need for them have I, no. So when my intuition begins calling me back for the trance, then I think something must be heywire within the locked parts of the soul of Sam. Perhaps this is due to some imbalances in certain aspects of my conscious life that is ultimately upsetting the mojo. Yet then again there are parts of me, inexplicable in words, that I do not quite understand yet have grown to accept as being part of my complicated personality. But *shrug* then I don't know. I guess I should let the matter unfold on its own as time marches on. *** I discovered the meaning to life last night while, of all places, taking a shower. I will be happy to share with you: "The meaning to life is to find your meaning to life." *** Mom wants to take a two-week vacation to Rhode Island sometime this June. She and Uncle Mark are thinking about renting a cottage by the sea and spending a lot of time there. She plans to go without my dad. I don't know if I'm going to go this year. I have to find an internship and/or a job in the theater this summer. I'm trying to secure a job working at Summer Stock, the dinner theater program NKU has. *Note to self: find out when they're hiring, Sam, you fool.* I personally don't really want to be spending an exorbent amount of time with the family. If Mom's going to be dragging her negative energy across the country with me in tow, then I'd rather just work all summer doing what makes me happy. One day I will tell her the truth about disposition, but for now I lack the energy, motivation, and inspiration to put together an eloquent monologue proclaiming *the truth.* I ought to just give her my username and password to this diary... Whoa, random memory. I suddenly had a flashback to the eighth grade, when my dad had just lost his job and was out of town trying to find employment, and Mom, exhausted and looking much older even to my insensitive eyes, had to take care of the house and two young kids. I remember feeling frustrated that she should be so tired, void of energy and happiness. I remember writing about it in my diary, how her unhappiness was making me miserable, and how her sadness was not unfounded but she had to find a way to be happy in spite of everything. I remember wishing how I could tell her that, but I knew I would stumble over my words. So I left my diary open to that page, hoping that she'd find it. But she never did; she respected my privacy at that age a little too much, I think. When I did finally tell her my thoughts, the results were disastrous. I don't remember her being so angry. Of course, I went about it in a tactless manner-- when I was visibly miserable and bitchy myself after the results of my report card after the second quarter. Ah, how angry she was at me. Perhaps this is why I can't tell her my thoughts on such a situation as sticky as hers-- because of this memory. I doubt she remembers this fight; it was over by the end of the week and forgotten by most parties, "most" being the keyword. But then again I am older and more rational than at thirteen. Perhaps she wants to hear my thoughts on some things. Well. I don't think I can volunteer any information at this point. She'll have to ask; if she really wanted to know, she'd ask. *** I have mapped out in my head the placement of the furniture in the dorm for next semester. Number one, Trisha and I are bunking beds in the corner by the window. Then we'll put her desk and dresser (which will also be my ladder to the top bunk) next to the bed, with room enough to spare for her printer and scanner. Then where Stephanie's desk and bed are now is where I'll put my dresser and desk. Meanwhile, a steady line of white wall will appear on that side of the room, where Trisha will put up her art work and posters, and then taper into my mountain load of Harry Potter, unicorn, Lord of the Rings, and Heath Ledger posters. We'll move the refrigerator down to the floor, and sit up our school work "filing storage space" on the other side of the room, where the dressers are now, and still have ample space for our butterfly chairs, more pictures and decorations, and loads of room for all my art crap. All that's left to do is convince her this is the best way! I'll need to draw diagrams, maybe architectural blueprints. Yes, "Welcome to Sam and Trisha's room; Trisha lives here, but it's mostly Sam's."
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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