Maybe I'm just tired

The strangest things are tied to memory, there is a christmas wreath scented candle that reminds me of a video game I played while it was lit a lot apparently.

And then I can't listen to Gorillaz without thinking of Asheville NC.

Similarly, I played ping pong yesterday, I haven't played ping pong in ages, but I immediately sank into the little idiosyncrasies of it.

Mothballs smell like my grandparents house, lol. I like that smell.

I hate when people have a little spit string connecting the bottom of their mouth to the top. 

Also, I hate when there are little crusted flakes on the milk cap.

However, I love the colors of fall, its kind of less vibrant, maybe more pastel, but I could look at it for hours.

I wish Bob Ross weren't dead, The Joy of Painting is still one of my favorite shows. Such a happy little show.

I'm pretty sure people can figure most anything out if they think about it (There are exceptions, of course), I had thought this through before and then it was beautifully portrayed in this excerpt from James Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man:

"Eileen had long thin cool white hands too because she was a girl. They were like ivory; only soft. That was the meaning of Tower of Ivory but protestants could not understand it and made fun of it. One day he had stood beside her looking into the hotel grounds. A waiter was running up a trail of bunting on the flagstaff and a fox terrier was scampering to and fro on the sunny lawn. She had put her hand into his pocket where his hand was and he had felt how cool and thin and soft her hand was. She had said that pockets were funny things to have: and then all of a sudden she had broken away and had run laughing down the sloping curve of the path. Her fair hair had streamed out behind her like gold in the sun. Tower of Ivory. House of Gold. By thinking of things you could understand them."

 I like to think everything through, to a fault I have come to realize also. There is virtue in spontaneity and risk. But I can't help it, I am a thinker... to the point of I could consider it my profession.

It feels like I think things through so often or so thorough that I have lapses in sanity or something along those lines. Not in a bad way, I guess. I heard when I was young, it may be an Einstein quote or something, but like, Intelligent is barely on the other side of the line of insanity.

I guess a warehouse worker is going to have bad knees from lifting, as a pitcher will have a worn out wrist and elbow. What would that bode or herald for myself?
Not that I worry, a warehouse worker can now take care of himself and those he loves, as a Pitcher does his part for the team and makes millions in the process.
Thinking has brought me self-edification.

It has also brought me basically along my relationship with God, and as such, has allowed me elusive happiness.

Before I expunge excessive mindless self-indulgence I will give a song.
Oceanside, a more obscure Decemberists song, but one I love.