About how when I say, say, red, for example
There's no way of knowing if red
Means the same thing in your head
As red means in my head, when someone says red!
But I'm trying to say, I'm not sure
But I wonder if inside my head
I'm not just a bit different from some of my friends
These answers that come into my mind unbidden!
These stories delivered to me fully written!
And I'm sorry, I'm not quite explaining it right...
I don't mean to go introspective. It just happens. I mean, you know. You've met me, right? Or maybe you haven't. Maybe you just read me. Or maybe you chanced across this blog by accident. You're probably looking for a sex toy review or a picture of Danny Masterson naked. Maybe you're a new reader. Hey! Hello! I love you. I love you all.
I think a lot. Maybe too much. I think all the time, very quickly. My thoughts flicker from one thing to the other. People have said I'm mentally subnormal. Or maybe I'm not really there. I'm there - I'm all there. I'm just maybe away for a while. Lost in my own thoughts, in my own head, in my own heart (which does most of the thinking). Sometimes I upset myself without meaning to (bad things stay with me). Sometimes I laugh. Often I say things which don't make any sense to someone except me and I have to make some sort of excuse. I don't know. I can't think of examples. I need to be in the moment to do that.
I find myself being more introspective when I'm not well. Today, I'm not well. I was well yesterday - it was a pretty good day. I saw Catching Fire and ended up flat on my back with my girlfriend riding me like a horse into battle, maybe INTO THE VERY HEART OF A VOLCANO ITSELF! But not today. Today has been a quiet day. Because my voice hasn't been working well. I'm hurting - my throat is hurting, and my nose, and my chest. I have to be quiet. It hurts when I speak. It turns into a squeak. I sound more like a child when I speak right now. Less innocent, perhaps - more wounded.
I don't know. It sounds different in my head. Maybe.
It doesn't take much to push me further into myself, particularly when I'm quiet. The worlds I disappear into when I'm reading a book or the knowledge I'm fascinated by when reading Wikipedia, or even the half-dreams I drift into when I'm feigning sleep because I'm too tired to move. Even the fantastical scenes I construct when I'm masturbating to orgasm somewhere in the realms between soft porn, words and reality. Everything which distracts me from the dull normality of life is a temptation. When I'm quiet, that's where I go.
Read this post again and imagine me reading it aloud, speeding up and increasing volume as I go, until I reach this point. I can't do that right now, because I'm hurting. But that's how I feel. It's at its loudest when I want to shout, when I want to evolve, regenerate, burst into a thousand shimmering sparkles of angelic light.
But here I am. Here is me. Just me. Just for now. I am just me. I am here. And I am quiet.
Into the eye of the storm.