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This evening I had an unexpected visitor which cheered me up very much. We had tea and reminisced and it was just what I needed. Later on, she and my father got into a conversation about America, now as of late I’ve tended to kind of slump down in my chair when this happens. I know that things are bad here, and I know some things are still alright here, but as I consider myself rather Independent concerning politics, it’s difficult to say anything about it which won’t be mocked or opposed in some way. I also don’t particularly relish talking about horrible things that haven’t happened yet as if it’s inevitable that they will happen. Am I really suppose to embrace the idea that by the time I’m old enough to accomplish significant things, my country will be some sort of Communist nation which will make 1984 prophetic and not just a brilliant work of Apocalyptic fiction? I’ve always held this kind of “Que sera sera” mindset and I’m not saying I’ve completely lost it; but sometimes I feel as though I’m the type of person whose life will be interrupted by some tragic phenomenon which will prevent me from ever having fallen in love or drinking red wine before I die, or am reduced to some sort of hopeless individual. So very often I become inspired to live far more thoroughly than I ever intended to, being much more vivacious in my interactions with people, gleaning limitlessly from each interaction I share, being everything or being nothing but never being in between. People keep saying “Take your time” or “You’ve got so many years ahead” then in the same breath their fantasizing about Dictatorships or the day that will come when we no can no longer choose which shoes we wear and I feel so hopeless. I like my home, my red walls, the fact that I nearly always have a twenty in my pocket book, I like the sound of a waitress asking me if my salad tastes okay, or the way my sister’s face looks when I say “Let’s just stay inside today”, and I don’t like people talking about the possibility that things won’t be that way in 5 years time. I would like to get swept up in romance, or to lose my mind and fly to Europe, or to take in drifters and give them clean water and a good story and a warm meal and some piece of mind. I’d like to kiss a stranger, and feed the birds in Trafalgar Square because the last time I was there I forgot to because my friend wouldn’t stop talking about her boyfriend and I spilled European juice on my socks. So why should I go to college if everyone I love subtly suggests that a Bachelor’s degree may be useless by the time I actually acquire it? What then is preventing me from running off with no one in particular and backpacking across the country with nothing but a few dollars and the best of Bob Dylan? I was looking so forward to Graduation, to being able to say I’d done it, to being able to tell the 8 year old me that she’d been wrong about me all along. But now, though I may continue to hide behind my books and my work, it’s not as if I am bounded by some sort of legal obligation to finish. I often wonder what the look on my parents’ faces would be if I were to set the book down and take up mandolin lessons and call it my dream. If they asked “Why would you?” or “How could you?” I’d remind them of 1984 and how devoutly they believed in it’s validity and prophetism and the fact that any girl in her right mind would rather play a medieval instrument than go to school if she only had 5 years left to be free. It’s not as if my parents are these unreasonable, eerie apocalyptic enthusiasts or anything. My mother knows nothing about world events, and my father is the most calm, courageous, reasonable, and amiable man I’ve ever known. They just both have a habit of collecting  strange friends and taking everything their strange friends say into account, and it results in many stacks of unread conspiracy theories lying about the coffee table. So I guess you could say I’ve got the blues, or something like them anyway. All I know is that similar to any other youngster I’d like to do special things with special people, to wear the shoes I like the best and to drink red wine and to travel too much. And I’m finding it difficult to decided whether I should pursue serendipity or education, because both are lovely but only one is seductive.

She did not need much, wanted very little. A kind word, sincerity, fresh air, clean water, a garden, kisses, books to read, sheltering arms, a cozy bed, and to love and be loved in return.

Starra Neely Blade