Thinking.

Lately, as I walk around campus, I can't help but notice a distinct lack of pits for me to throw myself into and be slowly crushed under the weight of the eons. I do hope they remedy this soon.

Ideas

I go through stages of obsession about different things, depending on what I've been thinking about lately. Today, I have become overwhelmed with the thought that my ideas vanish if I don't remember them. I wish everything I thought, good and bad, were recorded and placed on file for me to look at later and organise. It's frustrating.

Worst Case Scenario

Things go, and they stop and now I don't know what's going on. I feel like someone has punched me in the stomach.

That Familiar Melancholy.

I'm feeling it again. Something I haven't felt in a long time is back.

I don't quite know what it is. I call "melancholy.This is a familiar thing to me, I knew it quite well some years ago. I am not sad, quite, but I feel now and then on the verge of tears. Things that aren't really sad, certain things, poke me somewhere.

I associate this feeling with Harvest Moon. I am... extraordinarily anxious about things that do not Matter or do not exist.

I think, now, that perhaps I am having a conflict between reality and fiction. Not that I am crazy, but normally I have everything very compartmentalized, an effect of my Dyspraxia, and perhaps this is what it is like to have things mixing.

It is uncomfortable and I do not like it.

Update

Things have been pretty hard lately, it seems. I'm doing my best to stay above water, but everything just feels so heavy. I'm sending out as many stimuli as I can and watching for any sign of life. Meanwhile, I've been shirking my duties trying to pretend that it won't come back to bite me.

This weekend should be nice, though. I'm going to the house in Tennessee. It has such great memories for me.

Time.

I've never had much sense for time. It's an effect of Dyspraxia; I simply don't notice the flow of time as others do. What distinguishes one moment from the last has mostly to do with what others are doing around me. I am much more comfortable reacting than initiating. I change my posture and mannerisms and speech based on who I am interacting with. Conversations to me are less about the exchange of information and more about the constant regulation of habits, back-channel, speech-modes and turn-taking. I am much more comfortable reacting. Perhaps the two are linked in some way.

Either way,

Lately... I feel that time is slipping away rather quickly. I don't feel any older. Each birthday, when someone asks "Do you feel like an year old?" I simply say "yes" because I set it in my mind that that's what it feels like. It's all very much the same.

Now, being a Romantic (and a Dyspraxic), I spend much of my time imagining hypothetical situations (partially for the fantasy of it all, partially so I have an idea of how some event or conversation might go). One situation (this one purely for fantasy) involves the classic genie and three wishes. What would I wish for? I've spent a great deal of time thinking of this.

Time.

One of my three wishes would be to have a place outside of reality in which I would not age and no time would pass in the real world. I would be able to travel back and forth from here to there at-will. I've always imagined this place being a very, very small room with a tv/computer, a dim lamp to read by and a pillow and blanket so I can sleep. No windows, no sun, no light. It is a place where I would go to rest and read and write and I would love to have that place right now.

But right now... Lately, as I feel the moments slip away as I spend my time living each day the same (with little progress in anything whatsoever), I've been feeling like going to a different place. I have an image in my head... a room. A living room? There's a couch or two, they're soft. Behind one is a window. A big window. There's another on a different wall. It's green outside, like big, leafy plants and the Sun is shining in as it just begins its descent onto the horizon in the late afternoon.

Such a place is very much opposed to my usual preferences of isolation and darkness. So why won't this image leave my head?

Writer's Block

In all honesty, I rarely get Writer's Block. Even at my worst, I can usually sit down and vomit something into gedit. But this time... I'm not sure that I've even written anything of note since November. I worked on "The Last City of Men" some, but that was almost all editting.

The worst part is that I have the urge to write right now. I've got all these vague ideas and even what seems like a really solid poem idea, but that little pool of water in my head that I scoop words out of seems to have dried up for the time-being.