|In the future, everything we write will be analyzed to death like Gatsby by high school seniors...
||[May. 10th, 2005|12:11 pm]
|[||Your mom ain't listening to
|||||Bright Eyes - The Calendar Hung Itself...||]|
I feel like a game or three of chess. With life, my brain tends to analyze all of the known variables, figures up estimated possibilities, and spits out the most likely outcomes. It's not an exact science, but what is? When it comes down to chess, there are so many variables to take into account that, unless you're playing against someone terrible at chess, you'll often find yourself surprised by a move your opponent makes that forces you to adjust your gameplan. Sometimes this'll trip you up and sometimes it helps you back them into a corner. Chess is the game of the elegant vulture, prepared to pounce upon its prey when the time is right.
My brain feels much clearer today. When I get caught up working on spring cleaning, I tend to take it to an extreme. Last week I spent 4 hours rushing around my room and bathroom, cleaning as many nooks and crannies in both rooms as I could before my body decided it was giving up and forcing me to get some sleep. (Un)fortunately, my brain never sleeps.