||[Oct. 31st, 2005|02:46 pm]
I am skipping class tonight to go trick-or-treating with Daniel and Hunter. Last night my mom and brother came over for dinner and stayed for some time. Daniel cooked some amazing chicken with a chipolte sauce and garlic bread. After my mother left, Daniel, Chris, and I watched the Simpsons and Mr. Show and spent the evening shooting the breeze, so to speak. The past month or so has been filled with glorious evenings of hanging out with friends and family and...shooting the breeze. We have slowly been adding details to the wedding via my mother, who has taken this wedding as her own pet project. We even have personalized candy favors and scrolls for guests. We found the thousand dollar dress I wanted for 250 dollars on ebay, but someone placed a bid higher than my mother's bid. She is enraged. Ha.
A strange sadness sometimes hits me after waking from dream, or when looking at objects that serve as reminders of the past. The feelings seem too sorrowful to bear at times, but I have done my best not to let them overwhelm what is good now. "I go through these feelings every once in a while. I know it is pointless but there is nothing I can do but let myself mourn when the feeling strikes." I now fully know the truth of this statement.
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.
Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go;
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all,—
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life’s gall.
Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a large and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.
-Ella Wheeler Wilcox