I'm studying for my astronomy test tomorrow, and the unit covers black holes. The idea of a black hole is just so far from human conception--or my human conception, at least--and while I understand what I'll be tested on it just still drives me crazy thinking about its implications.
Also, we're reading Nabokov's autobiography Speak, Memory in my Critical Reading class. Nabokov was a self-proclaimed chronophobiac; he was afraid of time and its passing, describing our existence as "but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness." My professor asked the class if any of us had ever thought about death before, and he was surprised to see that we'd all raised our hands. Death is for someone his age to contemplate, he said.
As we get older we begin to conceptualize things in a less infinite manner, seeing timelines instead of horizons, and it's strange to realize that I'm beginning to do that myself. Since when do I not have enough time to be everything in the world I want to be?
Wow, sorry to be such a downer! While I have more work than I can reasonably manage at the moment, things really are good, I promise. Just know that my morbid universal musings are tempered with things like the Celtic alphabet, which I abuse to no end during calligraphy class:
Business as usual, basically.
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