The Met

If I could travel back in time and say one thing to my younger self it would be that history is fascinating . Sure there had been less than enthusiastic instructors. I'd see their eyes darting across the room, watching the second hand. Waiting for the bell to ring as their dull, monotone voice marched on. That being said, once you get past the gatekeepers of knowledge you move into a wonderous world. I'm appreciating that much more these days. There is an arrogance of youth. You want to be your own person. Make something new, be something new. All the while rejecting everything old in the process. Ironically, the old is what sparks the new. Try and tell me that though. I toiled away night and day, trying harder and harder to be the most original. I became increasingly frustrated at the slightest reference or homage to something else. In a way everything has been done. However, originality may jump from how the story is presented. Adapt and survive. Move with the times. My brain wanders in far directions often. When there are scarce people around, it feels more comfortable to do so. We're at the Met right now. Not many art lookers in the museum today. Negative temperatures and a weekday, go figure. Hey, there's no rush. We can take our time. No one is crowding the spaces, making us claustrophobic. Mr. Bones is in the museum somewhere. I'm not sure if I'd like to visit him. He'd be in an exhibit, so it's unlikely he'd converse with us. I am positive he's loving his celebrity status, and if he wanted out he would find a way. It's up in the air. I'll see what I see. If I'm led to Mr. Bones, great, but if not, that's ok too.