dreams revisted
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Langston Hughes
Ever since I was a little kid, I have always been someone who dreamed big. Forever "bored" in my room, I would lie on my bed and make up all these adventures in my head. When I was five or so, I saw this Bugs Bunny cartoon. Bugs was playing the piano and it was from that cartoon that I began piano lessons. Of course, I wanted to play that song. Of course, it turned out to be a very long and rather difficult piece: Hungarian Rhapsody #2 by Franz Liszt. But so it goes.
A while ago, I lodged into the fad of making a dreams/things to do before I die list, not unlike this one. It was posted on the net somewhere and it seems that I have lost it in its entirety.
Lately for many reasons such as the latest month of doom being particularly irksom and gloomy, I have been doing quite a bit of introspection as of late. I have, as clichedly as it sounds, lost my way.
And for reasons that make no sense whatsoever, I woke up all happy go lucky like nothing had ever happened--- like November month of doom never existed.
I'm going to rewrite that list because I think a life without passion and zest is a life not worth living. I know other people who live all in their heads and like it there. I, however, think you were born with a heart and emotions and they are part of the package. You were made to feel and be alive. A person with no feelings ia robot.... or a serial killer. So I'm going to go back to those things that I used to think about when I was stuck in my room when my brother was all yelling at my mother and throwing stuff and I was dreaming about how to get the hell out of dodge. I'm going to find those things again and then I'm going to do as many of them as possible---no matter how silly or inane because life was meant to be lived.
