Deep Thought Thursdays: Featuring Maybe Dead Cats and Gatsby Again.

Thursday-Friday 9-10 May

Someone told me I should continue blogging, and I agreed with them because I miss it and it's bloody cathartic.

I was planning on making "Deep Thought Thursdays" an actual thing, but yeah. I don't know anymore if that's going to happen considering it's actually early Friday morning. But whatever. Like really.

This is going to sound blasphemous, but before this week, I'd never watched the show How I Met Your Mother. I discovered it on Saturday when I was supposed to be studying for my physics final, because my friends are a wee bit obsessed with it.

And since then, it's practically been the fucking Fibonacci sequence of HIMYM. Like Saturday it was one episode, Sunday two, Monday three, Tuesday five, (Wednesday I decided I needed to sleep—hence missing the eight) and Thursday I watched thirteen episodes. In a row. I'm all the way through the first season.

I love it. I can understand the obsession. Rightly justified, my friends.

I disagree nothing good happens after two AM, though. I mean, I myself have had great adventures after two AM. Like philosophical talks about the nature of the universe. And meteor showers. And Denny's (multiple times). And Starbucks on the most illustrious all-nighter I've ever pulled. Let's be real, people. Two AM to dawn is IDEAL adventuring time.

But yeah. A year ago on this day, I was taking the AP English Lit exam, and it rather sucked because I was burnt out and I was tired and I was just beginning this grand existential journey I've been traveling for the last year. Oh joy. For future reference, adventures usually aren't the shit you sign up for. I'm a totally different person than I was when I was in Arvada last year. And I don't know how I feel about that. I'll probably be grappling with that whole shindig all summer, so yaaay. Just what I need. An identity crisis on top of the existential one.

Lord help me.

Well HIMYM has made me start thinking about my life again, as all good TV shows probably should, and I've just been thinking maybe some decisions have just been a few in a series of bad timings. Anachronisms. I've been thinking of all the things I could have done to make things end differently with different people, and part of me recognizes the expansive futility of these endeavors, because sometimes Schrödinger's cat is always dead when you open the box. Sometimes there is nothing you can do to make it live. Radiation kills cats. If it's not the radiation, then leaving the box closed for too long certainly kills the cat. I mean really.

Quantum physics is the shit if you ever get the chance to read up on it.

And then I started to think that maybe I really am Jay Gatsby.

Yeah, I’m usually Nick. I observe. I learn. I make social commentaries (hi, internets).

But there is some part of me that is always going to be that alienated soul staring out over the water at a green light, at a dream that’s already dead, at that “orgiastic future which year by year recedes before us.” There’s always going to be a part of me that throws these grand parties, that puts on grand charades hoping for something that may or may not happen, because there’s a part of me that is that fucking idealist that keeps hoping, that keeps dreaming, that keeps thinking. There's always a part of me that's going to hope that the cat is alive, because I want a second chance, because I want to try again. Because I want to keep going. Because I hold onto the good moments. Because sometimes, that's the only thing that’s left to do.

Okay. I'm going to sleep now. Finally. For two hours. Whatever. I'm out, homies.

Sidebar: Gatsby soundtrack is fucking amazing. Also, look forward to the MS MR album drop on Tuesday. It's gonna be legendary. Yeah. I went there.

Look forward to "Deep Thought Thursdays." Next week, it'll ACTUALLY be on Thursday (maybe—I make no promises), and maybe more coherent.

Thanks for reading (again). :)