Take that look from off your face, you ain't ever gonna burn my heart out

I finished War and Peace! I was unexpectedly called into work and I finished it. The first epilogue was pretty okay, like I said, I have a natural predisposition to not be too enamored with them. The second epilogue early again called forth an echo of the boy and the apple, only in this case it disproved all ponderers--it was three men's different answers for how a train moved, and how they are surely wrong, but how all three lead to what the actual answer is. For example, a peasant says the devil, another man says it is the movement of the wheels, and a third says it is the smoke. The three men realize they cannot be right, and all eventually come to the conclusion that it is the sum of the parts that keeps the iron beast moving. The second epilogue is more just Tolstoy Tolstoy Tolstoy, but I quite like him. Later he questions free will and such... That laws make it impossible for free will. Laws make the man's will bend under them and follow the law's will. And maybe man only has the illusion of free will. And that may be so, but if that's the case, I believe that there are a few... well, puppet-masters. You see, we had a discussion about this in psych. And I argued against free will because of Charles Manson. Those girls were his pawns, they were the zealots licking his boots. They committed murder for him--they killed a pregnant woman, baby and all, and spit in her face when she begged them to at least spare the baby.
But, if Manson had no free will either, how could he control? Charisma? Some sort of animal alpha-dog instinct? Follow the leader? Everyone else is controlled by the wants of a few? (objectivism?) Oh hell, I dunno.
Anyways, the book. If you're interested in French or Russian history (I have the good luck to be fond of both) you're sure to enjoy it, or at least be interested enough to press on. Before writing, it might help to have a base knowledge--but it can be really, really base. Like oh look at me name-dropping Horrible Histories. I liked the book more than I thought I would, mostly because The Brothers K made me a little leery of Russian literature. But I think I'll take out Anna Karenina for my summer reading. Or maybe Doctor Zhivago... Because of Into the Wild... Uh. Anyway. The book's really quite wonderful, it's easy to read and follow, and it reads much quicker than you'd think, too. Really. I'd read 200 pages at work and be like what the... am I on page 770 already? So. So yeah....

At the moment, I feel the need to write about, well, something different.
We happened to be looking through the old albums because my mom thought I had her mother's eyes--and while she flipped through the thing... well, first off, it was a little strange, well, one thing: my mom's grandmother she named me after had a brother named 'Tomasso'. But I couldn't help but crying, mostly to myself, I really was blinking back tears--most of these people are gone. All of these people will be gone. I was crying for people I had never met and may never meet (I don't know how I feel about the afterlife) because I felt someone has to--and maybe not even that. I was crying for that these people weren't eternal, their ways of life weren't eternal, they're mortals in a mortal world and maybe I was deep down being selfish and just crying for myself knowing that it all leads to "the same punchline". What really shook me up were the pictures of the uncles--especially Uncle Louie. Now, I was really little when he died--probably only four or five--but I still remember him and talking to him. But, I mean, he had to have been what--90? 80? He was one of the younger kids, but that had been in 1910. Maybe even earlier. But still. He was an ancient guy. There happened to be a picture of him from maybe when he was--30? Younger? He looked like James Dean, I'm not even kidding you. Like James Dean happened to be in the area and was like "You know what? I'm just gonna kneel down in that field and pick some beans". But, I mean, besides being stricken by how handsome Uncle Louie had once looked--I mean, I'm young. Younger than that, but someday I'll be that old. (Young?) Depending on when that picture was actually taken, my brother may already be that age. This won't last forever. "This, too, shall pass." And it scares me, deep down, that this can turn to that, and then that's gone. And the other uncles too, and all. And I finally got the gumption to ask my mom about--well, when I was little I basically lived at the farm, and there was a worker guy there and I remember being fond of him. I didn't have a crush on him or anything, but I thought he was funny and he was nice to me. And I've been scared to ask my mom about him--I get weird about stuff like that. Like, I'd like to know more about her father, but I'm scared to ask about him because I don't know what to call him--I don't feel comfortable saying "your dad" or "grandpa" because I didn't ever know him, but it doesn't feel right or respectful to call him Charles or Charlie. (I love that name) And, for some reason, when I asked about this worker guy, I started crying. My mom thought maybe he had done something bad to me as a child and that's not true at all, it's just... maybe I'm as scared of the past as I am of the future. Maybe my disdain for it and talking about the past is because I'm that scared. I don't know, I don't know, a million times, I don't know. Why would I cry? Maybe I was scared he had died? Well, either way, he hadn't. His name was Henry. Henry... I was thinking about it while I was waiting for the computer to boot up, and I was like, Duh. Henry. Of course! And now that I remember it, I remember people talking to him, I even remember saying his name before. I think it fits him. He reminded me of a lion, because his hair stuck out wildly like my Simba doll. I hear he lives in NY now.

I had a dream I got my class schedule and I didn't get into Rebels Without a Cause and I couldn't switch into either of the classes. You think your nightmares are so great. The best part is, no matter how stupid I think my absolute horror and fear is in the dream, cause something I'm scared of say, a tank full of sand and the idea of two scorpions in there procreating (I had a dream like this before. At one point in the dream I was so upset I collapsed in hysterical crying into my brother's friend's arms) but it's always to the extreme. I am 100% freaking the hell out. In my dream I was practically having a panic attack. But I really want that class! haha. Anyways, after I had that dream I woke up at nine and thinking I wouldn't be working I fell back asleep and had a dream that I was visiting a huge mansion that my uncle just happened to own... (I've had dreams set in it before, I remembered that because one of the doors opened to a huge creepy crawlspace that was almost like a huge open dank dungeon. With a poster of Dexter? Which was new.) but there was a girl there who had been bitchy to me for a few nights, then like the third night, she died mysteriously in her sleep. She didn't want to be dead, and apparently the grim reaper was having trouble getting in through the window (you guys laughed when I painted the house with lamb's blood!) and she didn't know what to do so she (she's a ghost at this point) ran to my room to hide/ask me to help protect her. So for two thirds of the dream I was like no, just go, you deserve to die, it won't be that bad, etc, cause I was still angry at her for whatever, but then the reaper almost grabbed hr wrist and she started to scream and I was like oh good god! What was I thinking? She doesn't deserve to die! And I kind of shielded her with my body (She had been knocked onto the ground) and I tried to take a swing at him which dur hur hur duhhh didn't work, and the second swing I tried to go for the sickle, which touching it probably would have killed me, but my mom woke me up right before I grabbed it.

Wheee. Going for a walk.