Seven mooses drool upon thine hand, what chooseth you?
Sometimes just wanting the universe, in all its unpredictable glory, to stop being crazy. Even people who don't sound crazy to other crazies, or the ones who don't sound crazy to the others who also don't sound crazy -- but on the inside, everything is crazy. Can it stop for just a minute or two, is all I'm asking. A day. Want the stream of consciousness to slow down, maybe some specks to hold in place for a second or so. A week. It's not the madness, but the allness. Even beauty can be overwhelming, even happiness. The levels to every thought, every word, when you start seeing histories unfold from words like Jacob's ladders and messy strings trailing from every idea back into some convoluted idea of memory, and you want it to just simmer down now, simmer down. Want complexities to fold back into their shallow pools, but then, do you really! Is it only this ball of fear making you seek the exit signs? It's like walking into a labyrinthal cave of glittering stalactites: You want to see more, but you don't know the way back out. Maybe you will have a life-shattering experience of disillusionment, maybe you'll find a portal to another dimension, but fear sends you waddling back out and away. Quacking to yourself quietly. It's like being alone in public, waiting for someone, or by choice; on one level you may regret not being tucked into the social fabric, you may feel an itching singularity. But also, it's like having your own private room of worldview, floating down the stream without having to touch the bottom. Observing expression without having to return in kind. Why do I enjoy that? It's true, I like being a misfit, even as it causes me sadness and confusion. I can imagine others finding me sad as well, perhaps picturing my life as hollow and faded with its overbalance of observation to participation. Yet most of the time I don't find it sad, myself. It's comfortable, and interesting. But there is a stigma attached to comfortable, and maybe that's the only reason I still question it so much. Comfort = guilt. Air conditioning, for example, kills kittens. By the basketful.
It's the feeling of a lack of control that scares me. It always does. Whether it comes from too much substance (that is, caffeine), too little sleep, too much stimulus (for example Las Vegas, or high school). Or, like now, when it drops by for a totally unexpected, unsuspecting visit, and is all "HAAAAYYY GIRL! Kin I have some o' yer COOkies?" and I'm all like "WHAT!!!", super eloquent despite being caught unawares. But I can't deny it has its fun side. Definitely a creative side. Likely, I should be cultivating it rather than goggling at it. The abject drooling, especially, I could do without.
It's the feeling of a lack of control that scares me. It always does. Whether it comes from too much substance (that is, caffeine), too little sleep, too much stimulus (for example Las Vegas, or high school). Or, like now, when it drops by for a totally unexpected, unsuspecting visit, and is all "HAAAAYYY GIRL! Kin I have some o' yer COOkies?" and I'm all like "WHAT!!!", super eloquent despite being caught unawares. But I can't deny it has its fun side. Definitely a creative side. Likely, I should be cultivating it rather than goggling at it. The abject drooling, especially, I could do without.