Ravit's Blog

Maybe I should give up trying to give my posts titles by default. The topics I write about are often too spontaneous and diverse within each post to be given an appropriate, cohesive, and concise title. The flat sheet may be the most cumbersome invention in the history of bedding, maybe other than the quilt cover. Especially when the fitted sheet already has the elastic that holds the sheet in place, what was the motivation behind leaving the flat sheet in its plain rectangular form? Maybe it was merely to make the bed-making process more difficult so that bed-makers would feel better about their bed after having made their bed. Maybe compounding additional layers of complexity onto the bed-making process, while unnecessary, would render the procedure of bed-making a more sophisticated skill that reflects the ability of the bed-maker. I began reading War and Peace  today. I heard that doesn't have a well-united plot the way most novels do and that the book itself is hardly a book b...

Once again, I retreat into my quiet place of introspection--the scratchpad of my imagination where my ideas find an outlet. I find it such a strange thing that I often begin writing blog posts having hardly anything to write about but then stumble upon ideas that then form into extended thoughts, sentences, and paragraphs at length. A couple of days ago, I found myself in a weird situation. I was browsing through Netflix and was planning to decide between two TV shows to watch--Seinfeld or Sherlock. I told myself I would watch Sherlock and then proceeded to search for it; I discovered the show wasn't on Netflix, but to my surprise, I felt a small feeling of relief or happiness rather than feeling disheartened. Even though the choice was in my hands, it seems I had picked the choice I less wanted, despite my (subconscious?) preference for the other. Back to this idea of these posts writing themselves. It really does seem as though they are writing themselves, and I am merely witness...

Welcome to a fresh outpouring of ideas from the bowels of my soul. Watch as the thorny messy jumble of ideas tangled up messily inside my head manifest themselves in a semi-structured form in a flowing procession of words. My mind is racing. My thoughts are cloudy and dissonant, not beautiful. I threw up yesterday. Vomited into a bucket at 2 in the morning. It wasn't the vomiting that hurt so much as the intense cramping in my stomach that occurred in the moments leading up to the vomiting, accompanied by sweat, pins and needles, and the putrid smell of bile in my belches. This, I would say, is not a very beautiful side of life. What is going on inside my mind? An evil concoction of fear, guilt, and panic is ravaging my thoughts and seeping through every pore of my body. It is sad that almost nothing is guaranteed in life. When people become depressed, their ability to perceive beauty is diminished. They cannot even such ordinarily beautiful things like a good song, book, piece of ...