Almost 6 o’clock, and I’ve yet to close my eyes…
July 3, 2008I’ve been reading “The Historian” by Elizabeth Kostova. It’s a twist on the classic Dracula story — focusing more on Vlad Tepes, Count Dracul, an actual historical figure… We know him as Vlad the Impaler or Dracula, Prince of Wallachia. The story is typical but so well written that I am afraid to sleep. To dream about it, as I had had just two nights ago.
I am almost halfway through the book. So many things have happened already that I don’t know what else could possibly happen. I enjoy the way the book takes you to so many places in Europe. The main characters, when I last read, were just leaving Istanbul for Budapest…
I’ve never been to Budapest. I find it odd that I’ve yet to visit Hungary… Ah well. Eventually.
Turkey… My memories of Istanbul are slim. But I recall the smell of feet at the Blue Mosque… The Stele of St. Gregory Thaumaturgus which I couldn’t reach… The sprawling grounds and the pretty gazebo at Topkapl Palace… The Turkish delight which made Gerald’s teeth hurt more (he was in misery the whole time after that — at least until we got him to the dentist in Prague, Czech Republic)… The fine-spun silk carpet we bought near the Grand Bazaar… The hot apple cider mix and Turkish slipper keychains we bought in the Bazaar… The odd sign which said “Sorry, we’re open.”
Funny how I remember more of Istanbul than I originally thought. I wish I’d read up on those places a lot more before we went… Ah well. I will not make that same mistake.
Places to read on before this month’s trip: Denmark, Estonia, Russia, Finland, Germany, Sweden, Norway, England, and Scotland.
I wonder… Should I buy another memory card for the trip? Perhaps.
Ramblings.
This blog has been horribly neglected. I suppose if I weremore inclined to reflection still, I’d be updating this as often and as elaborately as I used to. I’m hardly ever alone enough to reflect though. My mind is filled with noise. It’s not a natural progression for me. Historically, I am an introvert. I would value my moments alone… To write in my blue notebooks. That was my pleasure before. But now, I find myself afraid of silence. Afraid of what I may discover.
So instead, even when I am alone, I keep myself busy with my unproductive pastimes; I watch movies and play online word games much too often. But here I am. Writing. Reflecting, if you please. But not too deeply.
Too many things have happened. The long-term consequences of these events are yet unknown, and the prospect of something so negative gives me anxiety. As a result of that anxiety, I avoid. That makes me a coward, I suppose. But as a psych major, I at least know when not to hurry the dissolution of my defense mechanisms. I will face them when I am ready. Or when factors are at least more favorable that there need not be fear.
As a result of all this avoidance, I might be bringing about those negative consequences myself. Everything I fear might happen… WILL happen… Just because.
I’m just rambling… God be kind.
…
On another note, I wonder if I am capable of writing novels on the horror genre. I believe that I have it in me to scare myself. But would I really want to unlock that part of me which houses all these thoughts of the unnatural? Or the supernatural? I sometimes wonder what Stephen King was like in person. If he could sleep soundly… Does he dream of death? Ghosts? Evil? I’ll remember to ask him if I meet him one day.
