The Passing Time
I would say it's been a while, but that might come across as somewhat, well. Obvious.
I'm taking a break from House, season 4, to voice a slight bit; perhaps to simply break the silence. I haven't written here in a while because I haven't felt like I could, or should, or that it mattered. That, combined with an incredible sense of violation I felt, turned me away from the idea of journaling.
So why have I decided to put pen to paper again? I have no idea. Well, not a firm one, anyway.
I hate spending time in my head. I enjoy being thoughtful and pondering things, but thoughts have a certain amount of inertia to them. Once you give them a push or even just a slight nudge, you find they start rolling; slowly at first, as passing background noise while you check a customer out, find a shirt or pants to wear, slay a dragon, send a text message. And then somehow, it becomes more than just background static: it becomes acute, like a high pitched screech from the next room. You can't stop it, so you play along and you let your brain run it's course and you try not to let train of thought or stream of consciousness get in the way of mundane things, like cooking a meal or watching a TV show. It's multitasking, isn't it? You're thinking about two things at once, how brilliant. And then it's all rushing wind because all you can feel is like you're barreling towards something. An inevitability, a finite end or beginning, a crashing, horrifying...something.
The problem is, it's all mental. It isn't real. Well, no more real than a personally defined existence is real: it's only real because I allow my thoughts to invade my own sense of reality. If I spend time thinking about something painful, I'm likely to start wondering when the pain is going to start; likewise, if I think about something that's negative (or positive!) I'm likely to start pondering the how's, when's, why's.
If's. "What If" is an ugly, ugly game. I'll take black, you take white.
So, there's my mental rambling for the current five minutes before I go back to House, season 4. Except that part of me wants to spend more time here and vent more and cut loose more. And the other parts of me? They just really want me to get out of my head.
So what if...I stop asking questions for once in my life and let the next 12 hours or 30 minutes or 5 minutes or 30 seconds pass and I forget to ask anything and I just watch the passing time. What if, what if.
I'm taking a break from House, season 4, to voice a slight bit; perhaps to simply break the silence. I haven't written here in a while because I haven't felt like I could, or should, or that it mattered. That, combined with an incredible sense of violation I felt, turned me away from the idea of journaling.
So why have I decided to put pen to paper again? I have no idea. Well, not a firm one, anyway.
I hate spending time in my head. I enjoy being thoughtful and pondering things, but thoughts have a certain amount of inertia to them. Once you give them a push or even just a slight nudge, you find they start rolling; slowly at first, as passing background noise while you check a customer out, find a shirt or pants to wear, slay a dragon, send a text message. And then somehow, it becomes more than just background static: it becomes acute, like a high pitched screech from the next room. You can't stop it, so you play along and you let your brain run it's course and you try not to let train of thought or stream of consciousness get in the way of mundane things, like cooking a meal or watching a TV show. It's multitasking, isn't it? You're thinking about two things at once, how brilliant. And then it's all rushing wind because all you can feel is like you're barreling towards something. An inevitability, a finite end or beginning, a crashing, horrifying...something.
The problem is, it's all mental. It isn't real. Well, no more real than a personally defined existence is real: it's only real because I allow my thoughts to invade my own sense of reality. If I spend time thinking about something painful, I'm likely to start wondering when the pain is going to start; likewise, if I think about something that's negative (or positive!) I'm likely to start pondering the how's, when's, why's.
If's. "What If" is an ugly, ugly game. I'll take black, you take white.
So, there's my mental rambling for the current five minutes before I go back to House, season 4. Except that part of me wants to spend more time here and vent more and cut loose more. And the other parts of me? They just really want me to get out of my head.
So what if...I stop asking questions for once in my life and let the next 12 hours or 30 minutes or 5 minutes or 30 seconds pass and I forget to ask anything and I just watch the passing time. What if, what if.