distracted much?Once again, it seems that each time I sit down and set out to do some writing, beginning with a solid idea in mind, I come to the table and draw a blank. It feels ironic to me that I am now this way. Being an undiagnosed dyslexic kid who was failing out of high school English I could pretty much whip up amazing pieces on whatever was rumbling around in the space my brain should have been occupying, but now that I'm educated - in English education, no less - my brain won't allow thoughts to cultivate beyond the point of germination.
Well, guess what, brain. I'm not OK with buds of ideas any more. I want the fruits I see in my mind's eye to actually come to a more real / tangible / physical type of fruition. So back up and get out of my way, I'm coming through and I'm taking control.
Today, for example, I have once again been sidetracked by the feeling that my brain is running endless loops in massive quantities. Obviously
What is this inside of me?
I sometimes come to the conclusion that there are more of me than my outer shell leads the world to believe. How can just one feel so many and exaggerated emotions. How, still, can one simple keep them inside as the masses tear and fight and kick and scream, seemingly from all the depths within.
But I am truly alone in this.
I am alone in this in that no mater what I say, I cannot fully relate the things I feel or think. I am convinced there is something more.
How, then, can I describe the indescribable?
At what point should I start my story? Where did the first me split from myself to become a second me in my own mind? Was it there from the beginning or did it simply split off like a cell does in reproduction? Am I all myself or am I others as well?
We sit and ponder, allowing one at a time to type things. We hope one of us will make sense of it all and let the rest of us know - and