Another Year

Log Entry #2333 1/20/21 - #2317 1/21/20

Another year is just like any other day, could be new, could be normal, maybe even spectacular. Like last year, it was normal. Like any other tragedy, it's normal. It happens, people freak but it happens.

The weather, it changes, it's cold, and I don't like the cold; how it would wrap around me like a blanket but it's not warm, and I'd hate it. I'd hate everything, really. It could be hot, it could be cold, it could be normal. What is normal? The things that happen every day, everything is normal. People exaggerate, get dramatic about silly things, that's also normal.

It could also be drought, damp or just plain normal. Everything is in place, and everything will change, a different kind; a constant kind. Like how my mind blabbers, could falter but also, be wonder and wander.

I don't have to say or do anything. I don't have to think to say things. Everything falls into place, but what isn't normal? In a day, a person could have gone through countless mishaps. In the same day, another person would get a fortune. The probabilities of everything; the inevitable and the things that could make it happen.

There again, my mind’s yonders, exaggerating, ever so excruciating the littlest things I’m not even supposed to know and say. This paper; this script, I could only ever write this in a format since I was asked a question: How do you think will this year go?

The clouds form and carry what was the ocean; The water drifting up on the air just to fall as rain; The air in the breeze swaying tree leaves; Leaves falling from those trees.

Like the past years, like past happenings, thoughts of calamities, thoughts of anything, everything would be of normality. I could do what I wanted or I can’t do anything at all. I could talk about things that would end with a lot of possibilities; If I talk to myself, that’s normal thinking. If I talk out loud, would that be normal? If I was talking with another person; yes, a cat, also yes; like any other animal, maybe. If I was talking to myself; alone; aloud; yes, that’s normal.

You could read this or you can’t. You could be blind or just plainly ignore it. You could think about it, and you can write it down too. You could think about how I was writing this, what I was thinking of and why I entered this. What was on my mind or everyone’s mind for the matter? It wouldn’t matter unless someone thinks about it.

No one could think about the things last year, but some people talk about it. People grieve and some have joyful laughs, it's just another feeling. Nothing against anything, but whatever I sound like, it's normal. The next year may or may not be the same, for what I am now won't be tomorrow, maybe I will, but that's inevitable.

I do not know what people think, I do know how to read, I know how to predict but endless things could happen with just one verdict; in another world, I could be anyone who isn't what I am now, and I could be a cat, I could be anything or I could be nothing. I do not know.

Some may think I am cruel, some say I'm just truthful, pessimist, and maybe even no one would be thinking of me in any way, but a person who wrote this. Whatever you think, I may or may not care. There's a lot of things I could say or keep to myself. The normality; the strangeness of one's humanity.

Though, who am I kidding? I'm not normal, I don't know anyone's definition of normality other than what it was for me. Maybe I'll find out this year or in another year.

Here's to another year of possibilities.

Log End by a cat