Sometimes I tell myself things that make no sense. I know they don't make sense, but at the same time I have to make myself believe them, because that's the only way to keep sane. Isn't that odd. Willfully deceiving myself is the only way to keep sane. Something is wrong with this logic. It's possibly dangerous, for example, to open up to something or someone. Even if you don't act on it, you still know that you care, and therefore your mood and your thoughts can quite easily start to depend on what is going on with that something or someone. This is annoying. We're individuals. We should be independent. Therefore, it makes much more sense to simply not care. It makes sense, that is, but I'm not sure that it's entirely possible. But darnit, we've got to try. An effort must be made to save sanity.
Also, the title of this particular post makes no sense in relation to the post itself. But I do love The Weepies and Slow Pony Home reminds me of myself looking back on my trip to Ireland, if I ever get to go. Actually, that whole album does. I miss The Weepies. I listened to them a lot during 2009, which (if you know me well you know this) was not a good year for me. I think that's why I had to take a break from them for so long. But now, instead of making me sad, they just make me nostalgic. Which is never really a bad thing. Except when it is.
I need some sleep. (Time to put the old horse down...)
sigh. I'm in too deep.
The weepies also take me back to a very specific place and time, but they make me feel peaceful regardless.
ReplyDeleteThis post is vague. Ahm?
True. I had just come in from a long Monday and I wrote it when I should have been going to bed. I had also just spent a few hours sitting in my car with Amelia and Johnny Cash, and the three of us were getting philosophical. It made me think of how frustrating it is to be dependent - on anything. Dependence = frustration. There was more to it, I'm sure, but that's all I can think at the moment.
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