Update

I'm all set, sitting here, waiting for my friend to call, ready to go out for Medieval Christmas. And I can't move. No, serious. I'm stuffed into a corset, because it's the only remotely medieval thing I own. I've never had to be so intimately connected with my boobs before. Seriously. I have to ask them permission to breathe.
Just wanted, really, to post a few poems by the inestimable Sufi mystic, Rumi. (seriously, go look him up. he's Uber)
I have lived on the lip of insanity,
knocking on a door, wanting to know reasons.
It Opens.
I have been knocking on the inside!

Dance, when you're broken open.
Dance, if you've torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of the fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance, when you're perfectly free.

I am, specifically, using these poems to do a final drama project. And I must say, they certainly fit my current mood. How many times have we said, or heard, "Carpe Diem". But, really, what does that mean? to each person? I've found, through running my hands on the mundane objects of my world, that everything around is really fascinating. And I think, Even when it hurts, This is life. Total Living. I want every breathe I take to be full of the wonder and amazement that is living. Just that I have the blessing to be allowed to see the color red astounds me, and takes my breath away. That I can hear a single, pure, note, is bliss. That I may be allowed to prick my finger on a pin, is lavisch wealth. Whenever I taste something, another's breath, I am bestoed a fabulous gift. The scent of air is something I should be forced to fight for. Anyone read Thief of Time, by Terry Pratchett? Lady Jean's view of life is much like how I would like to. Or the head slug things in animorphs (the one book where the slug takes over Cassie, I think and describes how wonderful color is). Why is it that we seem to block this majesty out of our lives? True, if I stopped to examine every fascinating detail, I would never sleep, nor eat, nor talk. Perhaps it is simply the case that in this advanced world with so much leisure, we are evolving to omit the "brain-gate" which causes us to ignore 90% of the world around us. Perhaps I produce too much serotonin, resulting in a euphoric, "high" like effect. Perhaps I think too much. Or, on a stranger scale, perhaps I am the only one who truely exists, and such, the world would appear more lush to me, since I am the only one truely percieving it. (Plausible,and possible, but not probable)
Perhaps my philosophical nature is combining with the "Nightmare before Christmas"'s song, "what's this?" to produce a very strange observation.
Maybe I shouldn't have eaten so much damn sugar.
Ahh. Christmas.