It’s 10:46pm on a Sunday night in September and I feel at peace.
Tonight’s a good night to be intoxicatingly cliché.
Tomorrow is Monday, and needless to say, I’m not exactly ecstatic about the return of immediate responsibility. Right now, I’d like to just remain in the now. (Aside, that last sentence just reminded me of the entire premise of The Spectacular Now, which was an okay movie. Future blog post of my critique for that film, possibly? I’ve got some stuff to say about it).
But, I did just admit that it’s a good day to be cliché so remaining in the now is only appropriate.
I’m rambling, I know. It’s been 4 minutes.
I feel at peace because I’m sipping a mug of passionfruit-flavored tea (too sweet, probably let it steep for too long), sitting in the dark of my friends’ apartment balcony. I have a partial view of West Campus–it’s peaceful, surrounded by apartment complexes with a partial view of the UT Tower. It’s lit and–I don’t know if it’s the poet or the Longhorn in me–but it looks spooky and…relevant. Yes, it looks relevant and beautiful and proud that it’s the symbol of UT Austin.
Listening to my favorite song, Ben Folds’ Landed. Continuing to sip the gross tea because that’s all that’s available and I’d rather have gross tea than no tea at all. The weather’s not at all like Texas weather.
I planned on winging this post (at least, more so than the others) and hopefully steer it towards some sort of a contemplative essence but my thoughts are so discursive I can’t seem to string them together into something intelligible, much less interesting.
A guy is walking his dog across the street. The girl in front of him drags her suitcase behind her. There’s a faint police siren. Soft lights in windows. A girl is trying to get into the adjacent apartment complex. Always the sound of passing cars. And a sort of background hum of…movement. Maybe it’s I-35. Or the River? Or of just life? It’s too bright to see the stars.
But that’s really not so bad. The Tower will do for now.
Cheers.
–Round of applause for my spot-on webcam, everybody
The Cursive Journal 