April 13, 2002 :: 1:59 a.m.
oh, ho, who is this cookie man?
My mind is a liability. If I could take a vacation from myself, I would. Go off someplace for a few days or a week and not have to constantly hear the internal chatter. My inner monologue, so to speak. Whoever's in charge of that one is a bit of a stage hog, if you ask me. Give someone else a chance, won't you? It's strange because sometimes it feels like I'm not even the one thinking for me. Because I know I'm not that irrational. Or I like to think I'm not, at least. All else aside, deluded is something that I definitely am.
It's sad when you can't even see through your own illusions. Aren't I supposed to know what's going on in my head? It's mine. My big mushy lump of gray matter, sitting in there, plotting against me. I bet one day it's just going to take me out like the World Trade Center. (Oh, god, I'm so tactless. Sorry. It's over and done with, people. Move on. Dwelling on past tragedies doesn't really move along the healing process.) Perhaps it's caught a virus. Maybe my brain has the flu. Or maybe I'm naive for thinking that I should be more aware of my own thoughts.
I can't meditate. Not that I'm trying to or anything, not right now, but I've never been able to. I either fall asleep or just sit there until my entire body goes numb, trying unsuccessfully to achieve some sense of "inner calm." I don't care, really, but it came to mind as being related to what I'm talking about. As much as I'm interested in meditation and things of that sort, I've never been able to get anything out of it. It's just not there. It doesn't do anything for me. Very religious people confound me because all I've ever really gotten out of it, in any of its many forms, is lots of pins and needles shooting through my limbs.
Pins and needles. Could we get a little more redundant, please? I'll give you a dollar.
I should probably go to bed. When I'm tired I don't write coherently. Not that I write wonderfully cohesive novellas when I'm wide awake or anything, but usually I can manage form a proper sentence. Though now that I mention it (thanks, self), my nonsensical, sleepy writing is more grammatically correct than that of most fully alert college students. With the exception of my friends, of course. I have smart friends. One would think that I'd feel a bit inferior, surrounded by philosophical Amanda, math/computer genius Adam, history boy Pat, and the master of all things metaphysical Joe, but you know what? I'm the only one in the bunch who can draw a decent stick figure or write working HTML or sculpt a mighty fine tentacle out of a hunk of plaster, so HA.
(No, actually, all of my friends can draw stick figures very well. It's just that impressive stick figures are about all they can draw. Hehehehe.)
Yeah. 'Night.
back & forth
Wait, there's more!
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