My stomach contracts and I feel my forehead crinkle up involuntarily.
Not the immediate future. That's quite manageable to think of. Next week, next month, next year.
It's the indefinite future. "At some point fast approaching". The point where everyone I know and who knows me has died, and all the people who knew them died. All memory has passed out of existence. And the future is entirely out of my hands. There will be a time of the future like that for everyone. There are thousands of humans who are dirt and dust and farms now, and all memory of them is gone. Shakespeare's time is coming. One day the last person to hear the long-lost legend of a great poet will die. His wikipedia page will have been deleted by some agency for avoiding dwelling on the past. And it will be just like he never existed.
I digress. To the point...
I am reading "Ninteen Eighty-Four" by George Orwell. Terrifying book. I'm honestly afraid to read it further because I don't want to think about it, and I don't want to believe it. The idea of no more love, no more aspiration to goodness, and the never ending knowledge that everything one does is monitored makes me so afraid for my world, my race, and the offspring thereof. Envision the effects of needing to maintain that mask of orthodoxy, even when you sleep, eat, shower, and blog. The knowledge that "nothing was your own except the few cubic centimetres inside your skull".
And it really could happen. Not for a long time, of course, we're still holding our own. But our language is slipping away. Words denoting the finest shades of meaning - the shades that make meanings individual and minute and real, such as nature is - are disappearing. Do you know the word 'ecru', for example? It's a beautiful, natural colour, and I can picture it precisely in my mind because it is specific and clear. A common word such as 'bad' though, that word is undefined as the universe. Bad as in Saddam Hussein or as in splurging on a pair of shows you know you don't really need? Bad as in being a pedophilic monstrosity or bad as in the sketchy fruit in my refridgerator? 'Bad' is a child's word. They lack direct comprehension, so their language must also be vague. They don't know what they're getting at. If our language becomes vague, we will no longer be able to communicate exactly what we mean. And then the fight is up. Because then how will we describe to someone exactly the colour of unbleached linen? How can I define the difference between an aquaintance and a friend if the only word for either is 'comrade'?
The book has gotten to me. I'm only on page 57. All I know is that I am rather passionate about ecru and my right to not be watched by the government every moment of every day. I like that I right now can make any expression I like and no one will know the difference. There. I just made a grimace-y rat face at the window. Serves it right.
Anyway, I had jolly fun at my first horse show today. Jemma and I won ribbons and a bit of money. So I got myself an iced cap. I didn't give Jem anything. She was happy enough to get back to her field and graze with her best but Jenevieve. I am gonna miss that horse so much. I've become so accustomed to loving her. There are some days where I imagine she doesn't mind me too much either. *sigh*. Today was my last saturday in Elmira. Ooh man.
*stomach goes AH! NO!*