I, of Harmony

Metaphysical Ramblings
Written on 2003-03-23, at 9:45 a.m.
Oh my.

I woke up at 8:00 this morning, and spent nearly the last two hours at an elevated height of nearly thirty feet as my parents made me clean out the gutters on my roof. Typically, I am not afraid of heights, but I was at least a little disturbed up there because:

(1) It was windy, and there was this creepy notion in the back of my head that the wind would blow me off;

(2) My house is at the top of a hill and is the highest house on my street, which made me look much higher than I actually was;

(3) The constant, satirical, ultimately-good-natured-yet-nevertheless-disturbing heckling from my father, situated safely on the ground below (The left side of my roof goes directly to the ground, while the right side of my roof has a lower subroof below it. While on the right side of my house, my father bellows at me, from thirty feet below, "Hey, son! It's a good thing you're over there now, at least if you fall off on that side, you won't die.")

(4) Related to the aforementioned heckling, when I had to move from the upper roof to the subroof, my father recommended that I simply jump down to it, because the distance would only be a few feet. When you're standing on a roof and looking down, it's difficult for your eyes to accurately judge distances, so I decided to take my father's word for it. Unfortunately, it is equally difficult to judge said distances when you're standing on the ground and looking up at a slanted roof, so his projected distance of "a few feet" turned out to be more like ten feet, which was not at all pleasant. But hey, at least I didn't die.

Good times, good times.

I miss the good old days (good old being when I first started this D-land) when I felt like alienating myself from others, which thus gave me licence to write essentially whatever I felt like writing. Now, I find that those (those implying many, as opposed to just one) who are at the center of my thoughts are constant readers of my diaryland. This, subsequently, forces me to change my usual approach; instead of spouty, philosophical thoughts of the day (as said thoughts are often provoked by the aforementioned people), I am forced to recite the mundane (scrambling around on my roof, walking into Genuardi's with a wooden stick, etc.). I really can't write much else, because what I feel like saying I'd rather (a) say directly to the aforementioned people, instead of saying it here first, or (b) hold off on saying it because the time is not right. I don't regret my inability to use my d-land as I once did; it's simply something different and, ultimately, something that was inevitable, that I ought to get used to.

To those aforementioned people (I'm assuming you know who you are, no?), don't overanalyze any of this; my thoughts aren't neccessarily positive or negative, they're just my thoughts. So fear not, and explanations shall come, in time.

To the many strangers who read my diaryland (many of whom I, too, read, and many of whom I, too, would like to meet), I'm sorry if my diaryland doesn't feel like what it used to be; perhaps it shall make a triumphant return to the way it was, and perhaps not.

Perhaps this shall be continued later. But, for now, my parents want me to return to the spackling and room cleaning jobs I started yesterday. So, for now, I bid you all adieu.

- - 2005-05-11
- - 2005-02-10
- - 2005-01-12
- - 2004-11-21
- - 2004-08-31

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