Ch-ch-ch-changes

I haven't been posting regularly because my thoughts have been in a dizzying tangle. Sometimes I would give everything to be one of those carefree people who lives a one-dimensional life. But unfortunately I think I have a semblence of synesthesia; is that the condition where all of your senses are combined, such that you might feel a hot day as "orange" or give numbers personifications or character traits? If I recall correctly, synesthetes are supposed to be especially creative individuals. And that might explain my hatred of even numbers-- I do find them to be especially ominous. Anyway, lately past and present seem to be blending, just like synesthetes with senses-- I see something or hear something, and it's as if I'm reliving the original experience, whether positive or negative. Time also plays a certain role; it's usually that I'm brought back to this time a year before. Maybe this sense of deja vu that hits so frequently that makes me unable to read books with that sense of predestination, like The Time Traveler's Wife. Have you ever felt like your path in life has already been decided for you by your past? I know that sounds crazy, and I don't really believe it, but that thought absolutely terrifies me.
I think that many of these thoughts have been brought about by the realization that change isn't just something in the far-off future. Rather, it's something that's actually happening. The idea of having to check things in New York off of some list, whether real or metaphorical, makes me unbelievably sad. The other day Kate and I walked the Brooklyn Bridge as part of our "things to do before leaving New York" project, and I found myself being so melancholy. My life here has been trying, yes, but certain parts of it can only be described as beautiful, vital, and epic. Thinking about leaving those parts behind is like thinking about losing a limb. It was almost enough to make me not appreciate the wonder of the bridge. I do feel like, for me, the bridge has been colored by these ruminations. In fact, maybe it's a fitting image. A bridge is both a barrier and a passageway, an end and a beginning... It's just the sense of endings that makes me teary.

"It had been the yearning of his heart to find something to anchor on, to cling to—for some place which he could call admirable. Should he find that place in this city if he could get there?" ~Thomas Hardy

"Whence comes solace? Not from seeing, what is doing, suffering, being; Not from noting Life’s conditions, not from heeding Time’s monitions; But in cleaving to the Dream, and in gazing at the Gleam whereby gray things golden seem." ~Thomas Hardy