Mindlessness

There are certain things I love doing, that I just cannot bring myself to put on my “interests” or “hobbies” list. I’m not embarrassed. That’s ridiculous. But…there is some reason or another. Things like: clipping my nails, blow drying my hair, driving, dancing outside in the middle of the night, and being alone in complete quiet.

Ultimately I suppose it comes down to mindlessness. I really appreciate it. That sounds bad…shouldn’t I really like stretching my cognitive abilities? Well, I do. There’s no doubt about that. I enjoy feeling like the gears in my brain are really chugging away (if gears do that…you know what I mean…perhaps I am getting my imagery mixed up, but whatever). But I feel like my brain is like that all the time. It’s as if I’m running endlessly, never taking a break to just sit down and catch my breath, to let my muscles rest. Sure, if I sit down for a long enough time, I get antsy again, and get up and run. But rests are wonderful things.

Clipping my nails, filing my nails…it’s the epitome of mindlessness, in my opinion. I just do it. I’m doing something physical, working on something, and thinking about nothing. I wish I had more nails, or just more activities that were like clipping nails. Watching TV or playing video games just don’t do it for me. I get really wrapped up in television or movies, and when I play video games, I constantly am feeling like I should be doing something else. Clipping my nails is of such benefit to me and others…makes it easier to play guitar and piano, preventing myself from bending the nails back when they’re wet, makes them nicer-looking, and puts a stop to any lethal scratching I may inflict during water polo (you can thank me in the comments section).

I also like things like showering and shaving my legs. Sorry if that’s TMI for some people, but you must understand that I just like that mindless time. Because doing stuff that takes no brain leaves my brain to be opened. I come up with my best ideas for songs, stories, businesses, et cetera, while lathering my hair, getting soap in my eyes, or making funny shapes with my shaving cream (I am really a pro at making many different sculptures as I squirt the shaving cream out…I entertain myself very well). The problem with coming up with such a huge wave of ideas is that you can’t really document any of them in the bathtub. I suppose I could take all my hair that falls out and twist them into a musical staff and music notes, and write down ideas with my shaving cream on the walls…but that would take a lot longer than it would if I just finished the shower, wouldn’t it? Yeah. *sigh* Plus not being able to really read music, as well as my hair having a tendency to just curl up after a while, present problems. Shaving cream likes to melt.

Whatever.

I like dancing, that’s a given. I don’t think I’ve met a girl who doesn’t. I really like it when guys like dancing, too. It was pretty awesome to see all the guys who showed up at the cotillion-style dance class at the homeschool conference. It was even more awesome to see the very few guys who were AMAZING. It let me hope for my generation. Perhaps I will marry a guy who will go dancing with me!

As for dancing outside in the middle of the night, I’d say it is the epitome of freedom…so I don’t know why I just told the whole world I do it. Might as well, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. But I do it because the night is stimulating; the air is clear, crisp, and electrifying. No human is watching. The moonlight shines down like a single spotlight…the stars are my audience, the cool grass is my stage, the crickets and the frogs are my music. I dance without a care in the world. I get warm and breathless, my muscles begin to feel strained, and the beads of sweat begin to surface on my brow. The soft breeze cools me, and I want nothing else but to stay out there forever…

Death is just the easy way to escape. The weather recently has reminded me about this story about a boy and a girl. Simple enough, I suppose. They grow older and fall in love. The boy is poor, the girl is rich. While she goes away to school for her later teen years, the boy, a couple years older, determines to spend the time when they are separated in hard labor, working to make enough to support her. Of course, he knows what she’s used to and is willing to do whatever he can to get as close to matching it as possible. When she comes back from school, three or four years later, he is proud of himself. They meet, and she seems preoccupied. He plans to come over to her house later and propose. He does, but he finds her in the parlor talking with another man—a rich one—who has his arm around the girl. The girl announces, slightly embarrassed and grimly, that she and the rich man are engaged. The boy falls into devastation, and that’s a very understate-ish understatement. He had worked all these years, FOR HER. And now what? She rejects him. Unintentionally, but he can never have her now. He never even tries again. He just crawls into a hole, gives up. However, he’s developed a habit of working hard. In ten years, he’s pretty well off. He’s been keeping track of the girl now. She married the other man and they moved to a house on the lake. One night, the husband leaves for a business meeting. The girl is at home alone. She goes out to enjoy the moonlit night, and comes back into her dark living room. Something in the shadows moves—it is the boy, now fully a man, dressed nicely. His eyebrows are turned down. In his hands is a pistol. The girl is shocked. Her voice trembles as they talk. His is calm and confident. He thinks he wants her love…but in that conversation, he realizes that all he wants is for her to know what he did for her, what he always wanted, and how she carelessly and heartlessly ripped his chest opened, pulled his heart out, and threw it out the window where it was driven to the bottom of the river. The husband comes back home. The man confronts the husband and shoots him soon after. The girl screams, asking what the man wants from her. Now the man comes to his senses…he’s only hurt her more. She hurt him, but he swore long ago he would never hurt her. He’s gone back on the promise. His life is turmoil, and the moment is happening so fast around him, he feels dizzy. With quaking hands he turns the gun on himself. It would make things better for the girl if he was gone as well. He shoots himself in the head. What he doesn’t know is that he’s hurt the girl even more than he could ever imagine. The girl is confused, bewildered…this was not what was supposed to happen this evening! All she can see, though, is what is right in front of her, and that’s any meaning in her life now has surely vanished, and vanished tragically. Impulsively, she grabs the pistol from the man, lets out one last sob…and shoots herself.

It’s not supposed to be that easy. That is not bliss; that is not escape. It’s just tragedy. Naivety, short-sightedness. People commit suicide every day, feeling surely that once their souls have escaped the world, everything will be okay…

I don't mean to leave you on such a negative note. No, I'm not feeling suicidal. Far from it! I was just illustrating something with my little story. Now I shall go and love my life some more!