|the 'loved' is about the interest that has been thrown my way of late ;)
||[Jan. 24th, 2006|01:50 am]
|||||Jem - Save Me||]|
I was driving home today and i saw the most insane moon, it reminded me of this picture i once saw and it's version of Moon Face (as a child I envisioned him as more of a full moon than a curvy one - like above). All of a sudden I got thinking about the simple childhood pleasures that was those children (Fanny and Dick if my memory serves me correctly!!) wandering through an enchanted wood and climbing up that Magic Faraway tree into all sorts of different lands. I just loved Enid Blyton as a kid (I suspect I would have just treasured Harry Potter if it was around at the time) and all of those crazy imaginative adventures.
Then I heard the metal that was blaring out of my CD player and it made me think of how much the things that make you happy can change. I cannot possibly imagine sitting down and plaiting doll's hair and having tea parties could possibly excite me these days. I wonder if I have changed so much from that time to now, how much I will change by the time I am 30, or 40. It's strange how the things that make you sad, or angry, or confused also make you happy. There was none of that as a kid. Something was good or bad, fun or not. Now it doesn't seem to have nearly the same effect if they haven't made you cry to begin with. It's all a matter of relativity, the more something conjures up negative feelings in you, the happier you become when it finally works out your way.
You have the most strangely different thoughts and dreams and fantasies at different ages. As a small child I would lie in bed and imagine that I was climbing that magical tree, or flying away in the magic wishing chair. Then you get a bit older and imagine kissing that boy, or being asked out by your crush at school. Older still and all you really fantasise about are the material things you know you will never have, people you will never have and sexual encounters you likely don't even want.
I don't know why I am rambling about this. I suppose I am just saddened by the lack of imagination that exists in adults, myself included. It seems there is not point to dream about something that isn't real. I don't even enjoy fiction novels because whenever I read them, I think to myself "but this never happened, so who even cares what is written?".
It's like I won't even let myself imagine anything too grand, for fear of being disappointed. If I get my hopes up too high about all the great adventures I will be having when I'm overseas, I'll just end up disappointed when it doesn't turn out exactly the same as I imagined. I'm trying to leave my mind as a completely blank slate as far as my expectations for going overseas are concerned. It's incredibly difficult but hopefully it will remain that way.
Anyway, I think it's time to stop this nonsense, I think I must begin to think crazy deeply whenever I am driving or something, because I always seem to come home from work and just want to write and write about nonsense. Ok shall go now