Outside world.

We do not live in isolation. I sometimes worry that I have not interacted with the outside world enough in a day, or a week, or a month.

Times like this, when I am revising and stuffing information into my head, I want to ignore the outside world because it is full of information I cannot handle.

Like, I just got myself into the deep dark hole of a Men's Rights Activist comment section. I came out shaking and potentially having lost some brain cells.

Sometimes I regret venturing into the outside world.

But we do not exist in isolation. We share the same world as people who think denying rape culture is a legitimate political movement.

I can become a better person by learning patience and tranquility in the face of wilful and aggressive ignorance.

Compassion is key, even for those who make you angry. We become ourselves through our interactions with others, good or bad.

But sometimes, I really do regret venturing into the outside world.

Nothing to say.

I feel awful for not having written a post for two weeks. I feel awful for no one but myself. I think the world can keep on turning without my blogposts.

But it feels like breaking a good habit. A good routine. Even now, when I have nothing particularly interesting to say it feels good to put words to a page. To work out something, if anything, to write about.

I am busy, to be fair. I could write about Extinction Rebellion or the beautiful weather or the Notre Dame or the peace I felt yesterday sat by the river Cam in the sunshine. But my mind is reserving its energy for my finals. I must think Greek tragedy, Shakespeare, close reading, and feminist criticism.

And then it's done. I can think for myself again. Exams are a place to think for yourself, but in a very, very narrow way.

I have a huge list of books to read when I have finished. I can read them for myself and for no other reason. For pleasure. And then, I'm sure, I will have more to say.

It will go.

Have you ever felt that inexplicable sadness?

It is not painful, it is not overwhelming. It is just there.

Perhaps it makes you cry. Perhaps it makes you need to be held. Perhaps it makes you want to put the saddest songs you know on and wallow.

There is no rhyme, no reason in this sadness. It is what it is.

Sometimes the world is sad. Sometimes humans are just sad.

It will go tomorrow. Or in an hour. Or just before you go to sleep.

It will go.

Sometimes sadness is just passing through. It is good to sit and notice it. It is only fleeting. Inexplicably so.