Le mal du pays, nostalgie
by Edward Le Prieur
In the middle of the night I awoke, and began to frantically scratch down notes about something I wanted to discuss. A dream that I had died. In my dream I was outside my self, and I was following my body throughout my daily mundane activities…
I quickly noticed banal repetition, and not fear nor anxiety did I feel of being in this state. Instead I was in despair, I felt as though I wasn’t working hard enough. Had I actually died at this point and I really was watching my life from some point beyond how satisfied would I have been with it. It was a constant thing on the edge of my mind throughout that day. I began to think of the things I had done. I dreamt at long in nostalgia of the things I have seen, the places and the faces that I recall.
Sometimes these day dreams were beautiful, and other times painful as I recalled loss and absence of things I once held dear to me. All of these things create through fondness, and through pain the desire to do more, to see more and to live better above all else. I feel as though sometimes when I’m at a particular moment I can know that this moment in particular will be one that I will look back upon. It’s a beautiful and saddening thing because it above all crimson stark and all at once pale the brevity of life itself.
I don’t know if I am depressed, or perhaps I’m more in touch with my surroundings but I notice these things a lot. It’s as if my senses are always set to very high. I can’t help it, but it sometimes is overwhelming. I have to keep pushing myself, and reclaim the lost ground.