Observations and Reflections

There is this girl (I have now seen her many times) on the bus who seems to pay a lot of attention to the things I say (to my friends, when in conversation). I do not know who she is, and I assume that she does not know me either. But when Chance permits she stands or sit rather close to my conversations and she eavesdroppes in. We (my friends and I) laugh at a joke, and she chuckles; whoever is speaking, she looks on politely. I've noticed that several times that she and I have caught each other's eyes, and that she wanted to join in. There was one time in which I really think she was going to sneak in with a comment, because after our laughter there was a brief gap of silence. But she didn't, and the waves of words carried on. But I was, and still am curious, very curious - what did she want to say? What did she want to tell us? How does her voice sound like? How does her laughter - unconstrained, free laughter that she seemed to tried very hard to contain in herself - sound like? A string quartet is playing, and maybe she feels like a clarinet - not quite right to join in? But a clarinet is just as musical as a violin, no?

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I have accidentally deleted a document, a summary I've written for Alexander Pope's Rape of the Lock. Since it was on a floppy, the file was as good as gone. Of course, this triggers my philosophy mind: where did the file really go? Can there be such a thing as "nothingness"? The file was perfect here before. But at the push of a button it is GONE! It vanished into nothing...how is that possible? I cannot conceive nothingness of it...it must be still somewhere. What does "nothingness" mean? What if one day some thing, my bag for example, just vanished into nothingness? What of that? What if one day some one, my friend, for example, also vanished into nothingness? And if I vanished into nothingness? Where is nothingness? What is nothingness? But nothingness is. Even "nothingness" must be, which already presupposes a space and a time, for nothing is if it is not in space or time. Am I running into a paradox? How is it that "nothing" is "something"?

* * *

I was raking the maple leaves today. They are all over the ground. And I told myself: why does Winter send its forceful winds to tear up the dress of every tree (so I guess I was raking up the fabric pieces of my maple tree), penetrates us to our very core, and rapes us into the knowledge of its arrival?

I long for the snow to cover up my wounds...