When Will The Devil Take Me?

It has­n’t stopped rain­ing since I woke up this morn­ing, and now it’s dark, with only the street­lamps and their reflec­tions in the pud­dles for light. It’s cold out­side.

This is a good thing.

I feel like the epony­mous char­ac­ter in Onegin. Sitting on the bal­cony in the dead of win­ter, wait­ing for a let­ter. His ser­vant, hand­ing him a stemmed glass of vod­ka, asks him to come inside because it’s cold. “I like the cold” he replies, as he resigns him­self to his fate.

He walks down the streets of Saint Petersburg, and his motif comes in on the piano, fol­lowed by strings. FADE TO BLACK.

A sto­ic face to the world. Can I say sto­ic? I like sto­ic.

These titles are get­ting hard­er and hard­er to write.

And I want to say that I’m melan­choly, but I’m not. But I’m not gid­dy either. My emo­tions aren’t black and white. They’re a mix­ture of ups and down. I don’t know what to say when I don’t know what I’m feel­ing or what comes next.

I’m just wait­ing. Passive. Yielding.


  1. Ach, the lad’s sent me scur­ry­ing for my dic­tio­nary again. Eponymous. Hm.

    I adore this post.

    I pret­ty much AM this post.

    • I had actu­al­ly writ­ten most of this post last Christmas. I found it again recent­ly and dis­cov­ered that I pret­ty much still felt the same way, so decid­ed to update slight­ly and pub­lish it. Quite sad that not much has changed since then.

  2. It has. The riv­er nev­er leaves you in the same place. Only seems to keep rush­ing by.

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