Sometimes I just sit down, put on some music, and tell myself that I’m going to write something splendid. Something brilliant.

Not something that’s necessarily serious or deep, simply brilliant.

I think that that is the only time when any glamour is shed upon the institution of forming words and creating what you will, the only time when a cocky smile is truly merited. It’s fun to watch the words flow from your mind, tumbling down carelessly and allowing you to arrange them and following with exactness.

The majority of my week has been spent in confusion and defeated exhaustion. Ever since I’ve decided that I really don’t think I wish to pursue arch I’ve been completely burdened to see that I have no idea what I want to do. But then, in the midst of one of my glorious highs, that beautiful rush of exhilaration and brilliance and victory, I feel as if I can do anything. Restraint flees; I imagine the most inconceivable outcomes for my being, and I relish them and allow myself to entertain the ridiculous visages. I muddle about with the ideals and imprudence, and then I muddle about some more with a smile on my face.

I can take on the world. I can face an army that stretches on the horizon and envelopes me, swallowing me whole. I force it to step back so that I can charge. And charge I will. I feel like Obelix, endearing and physically invincible, the bulk of his strength stocked in his underdevelopment and his prolonged adolescence, his inability to understand. I don’t wish to understand right now, though. I really don’t care to overanalyze what surrounds me. In the end it’s not all that complex.

High as a kite, free as a bird.

For now, at least.