The rain outside is falling down in a pre-apocalyptic kind of mood. Then again, it could all be projection. We talked about that in my introduction to psychology class. How the way we see the world is much less dependent on reality itself than our own ideas.
I've been interested in boundaries lately. When does one thing become something else? When does a stream become a river, or a twig become a stick, or a tropical storm become a hurricane? The boundaries seem quite arbitrary, yet we can usually instinctively figure out whether a shade of grey is closer to black or white.
When does daylight stop being daylight and become progressively darker shades of blue until the stars come out and suddenly it's night?
When my family drives north to the cottage, how exactly do industrial buildings morph into fields with cows and then into uninhabited forest without us even noticing?
When does rain stop being refreshing and begin to turn into cliched symbolism for tears which I can't for the life of me get rid of right now?
. . . I've always been told I ask too many questions.
Um. Life right now.
I'm doing terribly in math class. I've been trying to get a new supply of gumption*. It's tough.
Finding it difficult to eat, I don't know if it's the stress or something else. I'm usually pretty good at stress. This doesn't make sense.
On the bright side, NaNoWriMo is coming up and that is rather exciting. There's a regional event tomorrow night and I'm super-excited.
*"A person filled with gumption doesn't sit around dissipating and stewing about things. He's at the front of the train of his own awareness, watching to see what's up the track and meeting it when it comes. That's gumption." - Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance