so i read henry's post. it was pretty interesting, and since my name was mentioned in the post he made after that, i was so enthralled that i actually READ it. big step for me. :D but the point was that i read the post and thought that his ideas about pessimism were interesting. and that i don't think henry's a pessimist. he may be a lot of things (the best tuner-outer of caroline on the planet), but i don't think he's a pessimist.
pessimism is a tricky thing. i'd like to think that i'm an optimist. i'm pretty sure i am. as a content person, usually immune to deep thoughts (except about global warming, of course :P), i pretty much see my world as my canvas; something brought into existence for me to paint the prettiest colors i can create. sometimes some colors take more time and more guesses and checks than others, but they're usually worth it in the end, since they come out so good.
my faith is probably one of those colors. it took awhile to create, with a lot of adding whites and blacks, lightening and darkening, until i finally found what i think might be the right color for me. i guess it takes its place in the center of the painting, but with a pretty thick border around it, keeping the color from spreading into other portions of the painting. that can be hard sometimes, especially when i'm trying to decide which portion of the painting i should be standing on during a particular time, but the question usually answers itself if i do what i know i should.
i think that was a borderline allegory. ack. i should be locked up. they'll probably just take me to SIS (it moonlights as a mental hospital).
college has been a pretty common thought lately :S. sometimes the question is where i'll go, but other times it's a bigger one: what am i going to do? i don't know how to attack the problem. i don't even know if it's a problem. but i have managed to overcome one hurdle. i deciphered my dad. it was tough. here's the situation: dad doesn't like the idea of me going to college. why? he obviously wants me to be an uneducated old maid who lives in his house for the remainder of his life. and mine. but really. why? because he loves me. it was hard to actually look beyond his discouraging curmudgeon-ness and realize that he doesn't want to talk about where i'm going to go or what i'm going to major in because he doesn't want to think about me not being here with him. poor dad. i love how my mom knows him so well that she told me all this, without him ever saying a word to her, much less to me. i guess one thing (of many) that my parents have taught me is that it doesn't matter so much what you say, but what you do, how you're presenting yourself to be read. as much as we try to guard our emotions, people read us like open books (because closed ones would just be too darn depressing). we can put that wall they tried to build in the french woods during world war II around our hearts; it won't do much good. it'll wear us out, and our feelings will be just as obvious as they ever were.
wow. long post. the important part: i love my dad. and i love that he buys me shoes. :D