“If I can’t be my own, I’d feel better dead”– Alice In Chains, Nutshell
I think I’m losing my mind.
The week started out grand – with my computer crashing at just two months old, my car battery completely crapping out (along with a broken terminal), and a missed freelance deadline.
Hours on the phone with HP and three business days later finally led to my computer resolution. For only having my writing saved on it I question what makes a brand-new laptop crash. I’m not extremely tech savvy, but my suspicions have been raised.
It’s kind of funny how a day can start off one way and then end in a totally different one, isn’t it? It’s our lives. We go through so many changes and come upon so many crossroads that it’s amazing we even have the ability or time to think at all. It’s the sort of thing I happen to be all too familiar with yet really would rather not be. To know the ins and outs of human emotion to this extent isn’t always the greatest of gifts. I’d trade it to be sad any day.
But we still get up every day, doing the same thing over and over. And then we go off, telling ourselves and others whatever lies we must in order not to go completely insane.
It’s a vicious cycle we’re born into. We may not necessarily be born insane; in fact, I feel we’re all born with the pretense to run from insanity. This may be our best natural asset, even when we are having to make up things to run from.
And strangely it somehow works out, albeit usually messily in the end.
I think my favorite part of who I am is attacking itself. My brain is no longer my best friend, and my mind never was. My brain is a traitor. I’m losing track of myself and someone on the inside seems to be enjoying it.
Caesar meet Brutus.
That’s just cryptic immaturity on display, but not completely inaccurate.
The mowing season is in full swing and has been keeping me busy, taking away quite a bit of time from my writing. Which is why I haven’t been here in a few days (along with my many other reasons, of course). It’s hard to prioritize which “projects” to be working on when your time is limited, and I’m trying to be as ambitious as possible without completely losing my head (haha).
But it seems to be to no avail. I’m blinded to the days of the week anymore. I am consciously keeping myself in check because I can’t keep up. It’s Saturday night, but it feels like it’s Tuesday. I don’t know why. This will somehow be my fault, though.
I’m remembering things in fragments and snapshots. Some days I am blessed with the gift of being able to string real thoughts together, other days not so much. Lately, all of my writing has become diaries of fog. I get stranded in the cliché “sea of words”, and if it doesn’t come out sounding like rambling gibberish, it comes out very corny, full of phrases like “sea of words”.
I have written some poetry I’m semi-proud of lately, though. I hate writing poetry, but feel it is a necessary evil. Sometimes the spirit just takes over and I abandon prose for a moment, getting lost in what is more than likely pretentious and semi-fraudulent. There is good poetry, however. I just do not recognize it in my own writing.
I still play my guitar every day, which is a mental exercise built perfectly to my advantage. I only play acoustic guitar anymore and haven’t picked up my bass in longer than I’d like to admit. I don’t know if “music equals life” like the t-shirts say, but without it I’m not sure where my life would be.
I’ve never had my shit together. I’ve just been able to use my illusion to get by. Now, all of that seems to be catching up to me. I don’t have the ability anymore to fake it or pull one over on people by faking it. If this is a dance, I no longer remember the steps and have never been one for dancing anyway.
I seem to be finding more and more ways I am “restrained” in life but continue keeping up the good fight of not staying in any boxes created by the “powers that be”. I am proud of myself for that. Most people who know me say I have no filter, which at times can be true, dangerous, and cruel. However, I am not afraid to stand on my own two legs and say what’s on my mind. It’s been called both my best and worst quality.
I’m going to have to wrap this up because I can see the fog coming in. It’s getting late, anyway. Although I mainly complained, I am proud to have put together a group of cohesive words from a train of broken thoughts. I made it this far and, surprisingly, even I know when to quit.