Tidbits from Memory (mostly as a result of boredom in econ)

I’ve forgotten how wonderful music can be for the soul.

Everyone talks about how music is vital to their lives. I’ve seen dozens of blogs/lists of 25 things that proclaim the sacredness of music, how people “can’t live without it.”

I’m not sure if I wholeheartedly agree with literally dying in the absence of music, but oftentimes the combination of melodies and words or simply just melodies or words alone can affect us deeply, delve into our innermost thoughts and envelop them in a sense of comfort.

Music is like a friend who will never betray you, like a shoulder that’s always available and will always listen. It’s ironic, then, that we listen to music. I think that when we listen to music, we are listening to our own thoughts and are allowed to roam freely in the fields of our minds. So music is in fact a friend who will always listen to us, because it allows us to listen to ourselves.

I just finished reading The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom. Personally, I think it’s an overrated book, simply because it was recommended to me with such acclamation. It’s a pretty original concept and story, and it’s touching on a few levels, but I don’t think it’s all that jazz. Same with Slumdog Millionaire.

I compiled a list of specific things I dislike as a writing exercise.

I hate waking up to disheveled blankets. My sheets should not be sideways, chaotically and haphazardly flayed and layered about.

I hate setting my alarm and going one minute later than I intended, forcing me to press the button 60 more times. Sometimes I’ll take the extra fate-given minute, but I can’t always. Sometimes I’m an hour off and need to press is 24 more times. I hate that. I also hate setting my alarm to a different 12 hour setting, as in 7:00PM instead of AM. It’s frustrating.

I have an unreasonable and probably unhealthy fear of falling off a treadmill. It has nothing to do with running too far or too fast to control, nor does it lend itself to the metaphor of living my life and the fear of stumbling emotionally. I’m just physically scared of falling, and it’s kinda weird, I think.

Ever since I learned this in chemistry (high school, methinks), I think of eating my foods as limiting reagents. If there isn’t enough ketchup, I refuse to finish my fries. If there isn’t enough Sweet ‘N’ Sour Sauce (or BBQ), I refuse to finish my Chicken Nuggets. If I don’t have enough tofu to complement my rice, I get more rice. I hate it when I get too much rice and need to get more tofu, and the cycle spirals out of control until I’ve literally eaten enough for 4 people.

I hate dressing up without going anywhere. Sometimes I wish I could just see into the future for 24 hours so I can dress accordingly.

Because yes, it gets hard to look this damn beautiful all the time.