Tuesday Doldrums

It's a hot little Tuesday and man, am I blanked out. It's not fatigue (since I had a good weekend and loads of rest), so I guess it must be a general quality of bleh-ness. The Uni's nearly empty, all the students have gone off for their semester breaks, I'm knee deep in marking answer scripts and theses... you get the picture. So here I am, feeling the oppressive heat of the sun seep through the walls of my room (which is made of corrugated iron, by the way) and also uh-ohing the fact that another episode of the doldrums is on its way.

A recent post in Strizzt's blog got me thinking: How far have we strayed from our dreams? Are we the same now as what we'd always envisioned ourselves to be? Can we STILL afford to dream? The Ox was a big dreamer once. Got toned down a bit when he realised early on that he'd have to fight for every little pleasure, every little thing he would ever want. In this respect, he's come to embrace what he feels is a fundamental principle of the universe: Murphy's Law.

If something can go wrong, it will.

So it goes. Especially in matters of the heart where he is most vulnerable, the Ox sometimes wishes he doesn't feel anymore and likes to pretend so. But every so often, he ponders the possibilities, the what might have beens and what-ifs. So he burrows his way into his work, coming up just for air (and perhaps food). He throws himself into the alternate worlds presented by his games, into lands where he is a warrior, fighter, king, jumping bandicoot, chipmunk. And in the end, he is so tired that there is no time to think of dreams, that sleep is the only thing he needs.

And it works, for a while. But day comes, and the Ox gets yanked out of Morpheus's land earlier than he would have liked (although it might be a good thing, since in sleep also there are what-if creatures). The cycle begins, and he realises that there are still dreams, and he still wants them to come true.

Alas, he is scared. Past wounds still ache, and some scars run deep. Does he dare hope?