Clovercats Thoughts

Netflix, like many other large corporations, has taken to placing more and more restrictions on it's subscriptions. One of these is the household rule, which only allows people living in the same home to share an account. And since I've been using my fathers account for a couple of years, this policy has become a bit of a nuisance. As a student at an out-of-state school who also spends summer away for internships, I see that message quite often: 'Your device isn't part of the Netflix Household for this account'. And since I usually can't be bothered to call up my father to get the code from the email to log back into the account temporarily, I stay locked out until I'm home again - left to rely on youtube and tiktoko for free entertainment. However, the more I'm away from home, the more poetic it feels. Not that I encourage the restrictions of paid-for subscriptions by big corporations, but its as if, by accident, they have become a stand-in for my parents - saying what they don't always say out loud: Come home, please. Just every once in a while.

I've often heard people say that the fourth dimension is time. I wonder if it's true and if so, whether our lives moved along curved paths through it. Maybe it could explain why some parts of memories feel close than others. Why, in the middle of springtime as a college student, you can find yourself standing right next to a childhood summer. Maybe the flashes of nostalgia that one gets is just the path of life bending so close to an old moment that if you really reached out you could taste the cool summer air of the past. Sometimes I think thats why I can hear the laughter of old friends in places they could never follow me to or why sometimes I can feel the presence of people that I can never see again. I guess that would also make the opposite true. Its possible that if you could stick your head outside of the fabric of time, it would be possible to see yourself 10 years in the future. Maybe I would see myself working in a coffee shop, traveling somewhere unfamiliar, or maybe just leaving quietly and happy.

November is gray and lonely. All of the leaves have fallen off their branches by now, the former glory of their red and orange lay trampled in the muddied sidewalks. Although the holiday season draws nearer, the cloud covered skies and early setting sun make it hard for the joy that accompanies them to come. One cognitive milestone for children, coined by psychologist Piaget, is 'Object Permanence'. It is meant to develop when at around two years old, and is the milestone where one can understand that an object or person continues to exist, even when it is out of sight. Although I mastered this concept easily enough, I think I find it hard to apply this same concept with emotions. When the days grow short and winds grow harsher, I become disconsolate and it seems to me then that everything has always been this way and will remain this way forever. On the contrary, when I am happy, it feels as though the world will remain beautiful forever. While this isn't such an issue with positive emotions, it does make these colder months very hard to get through.

As graduation draws nearer, I find myself growing quiet. In high school, somehow the idea of leaving didn't create this idea of nervousness that I now hold. Maybe it was because back then, I didn't really believe in good bye. There was that belief that everyone would forever stay connected, despite what I had been told by the adults around me. But I argued against them, they had grown up in a time long gone, before the internet and social media and connection had become so easy. But, as I suppose all naive teenagers came to learn this, the adults were correct. Goodbyes really were permanent, and it was possible that I had said my farewells to someone for the last time. Now, I have begun grieving for things that have now left yet. The late night studies with someone who will most likely never cross paths with me again, the spontaneous visits to Mcdonalds or the Gym, even the intense anxiety we have as we all hurried to submit the assignment at 11:59. Someday these people, as prophesied by those older than I, will scatter away, like sand in the desert. I try reaching out, grabbing out to slow the march of time, but its time that I learned you can't hold still running water. But if not with fruitless attempts, how does one deal with this loss? The adults had seemed to leave that part out. Though maybe it's because they themselves had no real answer. Maybe all of us are grasping at the currents, trying to slow it all down.