A few days ago, Tuesday, March 31st, marked both the most highly anticipated and dreaded day of the year; the eight elite Ivy League colleges would simultaneously delight and dispirit prospective students all over the world with the release of their acceptance decisions. The seniors of my quaint high school were of no exception and the entire day I could feel the tense emotions of my upperclassmen friends through their nervous speech and stiff walk. Unlike my previous years here at P High School, this year, the uncertain fate of the awaiting seniors seemed to have touched me, and I felt my own kind of bubbly suspense. I was ready to congratulate my accomplished friends, whilst secretly judging those who chose to stay off of Facebook that night.
There was a certain kind of beauty to this waiting, I realized, to this uncertainty. It was the same kind of beauty held by the limits in calculus or the hackneyed slogan of Buzz Lightyear: the infinite circumstances, both realistic and much less so, of who would get in where, of the reactions, of the emotions. A thousand questions ran through my head about these possibilities before two thousand answers were played vividly in response. (I theorize that my love of sleep stems from the brief pause of reality into the endless abyss of my dreams.)
Yet, as soon I opened my mouth to translate these animated visions into words, a filter turned on that clogged the high def images into low quality, pixelated snapshots. The filter strained my ideas. After all, a mess of beautiful things, no matter how beautiful, is still a mess and while you may be able to recognize and appreciate it’s beauty, others will only frown at it’s disorganization. So, no longer did my stories possess the same charm of beautiful uncertainty and brilliant extremity; no, they were sadly replaced with adjectives of safe, conventional , platitudinous, boring.
I was infected with TTS – Tip of the Tongue Syndrome. These blog posts will carry those “never-before-seen” utnfiltered thoughts, typed fresh onto WordPress to be liberated from the looming threat of becoming the center of hot gossip. The human mind works in a complex web of senses, of memories, of self-interpretation; a computer works in 1’s and 0’s. While infinity cannot be expressed by a number, but only through the senses, the memories, and the self-interpretation created by the mind, such numbers will serve me better than my peers.
Please be gentle, please be kind.