I'm listening to The National. I hate even saying that. Every second fucking person loves The National these days and, while that's fine, their knees don't go weak at the sound of Matt's voice, especially on that Booker T Jones track 'Representing Memphis'. Dear God, when Ali played that for me in Amsterdam on my first night there, after I'd had my dinner of a fried egg on toast and sat back with my glass of wine, I was in heaven. Some would say I even 'swooned'.
"Sit me in a chair, fuck me and make me a drink." I love the song 'Karen'. Actually, I love all their songs and I genuinely do believe I could study The National's lyrics as though it was poetry. Which it is, only better.
Sometimes, I like to think that the smallest things in life can have the biggest influence. Perhaps, the fact that The National are my favourite band has changed the course of my life. It's like that episode of Scrubs where we see how different the day when the butterfly landed on the fat man works out compared to the day when it landed on the good-looking woman. I'm probably stupid for thinking any of that stuff exists, because in a way I feel that if there's one person you're meant to be with you'll get multiple opportunities to meet this person, and that fate, somehow, will keep bringing you together.
But then there's the whole idea that nothing's mapped out and that every single action of ours has some effect, either direct or indirect, on how your life is going to play out. I look at some things that have happened in my life and, more specifically, people who have come into my life, and I see both methods in action. There's people I just couldn't have avoided in life; I was meant to know them. Then I see others who I met by chance, or at least what appeared to be chance. People came into my life through one insignificant event, often events that required many other external factors to actually happen in the first place.
So which is it? They both interest me equally. I probably spend more time thinking about the latter though, because I could just as easily have never met this person and, even after meeting them, we could have never talked to each other again. But we did. I feel a bit like Robert Frost now, contemplating the idea of a higher power or some controlling force. That's not my point though. Well it seems to have become the point, even if it's not what I started out to say. I clearly don't plan my blog posts.
Strangely enough, I'm finding it hard to start spilling out my emotions onto this page. That's probably a good thing. Maybe it's part of me maturing, and keeping things to myself. I think it may be necessary to cultivate an air of mystery around me, instead of telling every single person every single detail about my private life and emotional wellbeing. There's nothing wrong in either of those areas or anything, but it's personal for a reason, and I do think I need to start filtering what I tell everyone. I did start, a while ago. Maybe, at the time, I was just trying to make myself believe what I was saying was true, but sometimes it's good to know that some things aren't common knowledge. Am I beginning to sound sensible? Or more crazy? I don't actually know, or care, for that matter.
I have genuinely gone off on the biggest tangent possible, and now I feel like I don't actually want to write about what it was i came on here to write about. Maybe it's something I should keep to myself. There's people I can tell, and there are people I have been telling, but I don't like to force my stories upon people, contrary to what anyone who knows me might say. I am conscious of mentioning memories, events and people that whoever I'm talking to may not relate to. Having said that, I do believe that you can't just talk to someone about the experiences the two of you have in common. Everyone loves talking about themselves, and while I am, without a doubt, one of these people, I'd like to think that I can be a good listener when I need to be. Sometimes I just want to talk, other times I don't mind listening. When I came back from Amsterdam, there's not much else I wanted to talk about. I'd just spent six days in the most amazing city that I'd ever been to, and while my dad happily listened to me babble on in the car when he collected me from the airport, I soon realised that I was either going to have to talk to myself or else go back to Amsterdam. I'm still waiting on someone to come forward and offer to pay for flights... Maybe I expected people to enquire as to how it was, because it's something I always do, but I already know I'm a bit crazy so I can't expect my actions to be normal. Although, to be fair, my teachers and the barista in my regular coffee did ask how it was, so maybe I should meet them all for a drink sometime. My point here, in this slightly-extended paragraph, is that there's things you should tell people, and things you should keep to yourself, whether that be because you don't want them to know, or because they don't want to know. I know I could have just said that straight out, but that's clearly not my style.
I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. It's late and I'm literally typing every sentence that comes into my head. Fuck editing like. Perhaps I should stop now, and sleep, because I do have a hell of alot of French to learn tomorrow, and lie-ins are not my friend when it comes to being productive. I don't really want to leave though. Typing in itself is therapeutic, especially on the keyboard on my laptop because the keys are beautifully flat and easy to press. I actually fucking love typing. I hope that's not subconsciously why I want to be a journalist, because I really don't think that's a good enough reason. I'm hardly that stupid though. Ha..
I was going to launch into another topic there, but I decided against it. G'night.
And Caroline? If you are reading this, I love that blog of yours 'Folk Face', particularly the line that reads 'Niamh is always right.' Except you're more than likely not thinking that now after reading this pile of shite, but I said I'd remind you that you once held that opinion.
