A Totally Pointless Rant About Moments

So once again I find myself sprawled across my bed on my laptop typing into a blog. Today the thing that's on my mind seems to be...

moments.

Now, I don't say moments in a dramatic, girly, cheaply-made soap-opera sense. Au contraire! I say 'moments' in a poetic sense. I have many aspects to my personality, I can tell you that now. That said, I can safely state that despite this fact, essentially, I am the poet. To my very core. I think like a poet, even when I'm not composing poetry. I see life not in years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes or seconds, but in moments. Time is a relative thing, depending on our mood and environments, seconds become hours, years; minutes... time dilates and contracts depending on certain elements. Moments, however, need no measure. They are simply those sections in life, no matter how great or small, which stand out above the rest, forever holding a place in one's memory. It is often the simplest of these moments that strike the deepest chords, that are preserved most strongly in memory. Such is the case for me, at least. I won't say that moments are snippets of life which are 'perfect', as not only is 'perfect' a laughable impossibility, but some moments are horrible. Moments of sheer, undiluted, bloodcurdling terror (whether that terror stems from being chased by a fat guy with a rifle or pissing your pants in front of your class at show-and-tell when you're six is irrelevant). Moments of complete panic, of total excitement, of utter exhiliration, of contentedment... no matter which way you cut it, it's these moments in life that count, even if they do haunt your nightmares (like that poor, poor six year old).

--Sarah out.