Zombieland

Good morning!

A badly slept night behind me and I look like a red-eyed zombie. Thirty minutes more and I will be awake, let’s hope so. Lately I have been experiencing the “pling”-syndrome a little too often. You know when you’re calm and cool, and suddenly you hear a “PLING” in your head? The sudden realisation of things not being what they appear to be. Or suddenly seeing the world from a whole new perspective. Or being physically so tired that you can barely keep your eyes open, but your mind decides to run a long-distance race and keep you awake while doing so. Your mind just never stops. That, my friends, is the pling-syndrome.

I have been blessed with a curiosity towards a lot of topics; sometimes I feel it’s just too much. Curiosity makes life rewarding, but it can never be fully satisfied. Sometime very soon I need to take a few days off and do absolutely nothing, otherwise my mind will explode. Another feeling I’ve had lately is that something within me is changing: maybe there is a new type of maturity in my thoughts and my being, maybe I value myself more. Or maybe it’s just spring announcing its arrival. Whatever it is, it’s making me feel even more curious, more forgiving, and more complete in the way I am.  

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If (by Rudyard Kipling)

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!