I have been having too much in my head, I think.
Currently there are about 1000 words relating to a memory a fortnightly long’s appreciation on freedom, birds (flightless and otherwise), another thought on the journalling of a week of self-determination, failure and cyclic reluctance, and a third meditation that circles around but never quite reaches the very eye of happiness and all of it’s manifestation’s and paths. Living with these is easy, but writing with these incredibly excruciating. Each one deserves its own respect, maybe even it’s own vocabulary that I cannot provide.
The congestion is made worse by a bout of self-doubt, uncertainty and the most annoying degree of misery, the kind that is too small to be dealt with and yet too hard to be ignored. It clogs the proverbial pipes from which all good ideas should smoothly find their escape through. Everything that comes out from my pen or keyboard turns out bitter and goes off track faster than a bad action movie. I am frustrated but helpless in this, and altogether slightly unhappy. So with all that simmering in a cesspool of ill-fated emotion and ideas each one simply deteriorates in each other’s rot, and I’m left with nothing but rubbish in my head.
And from rubbish, more rubbish will grow. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt in 2 months, it’s that negativity is a social creature, never wanting to be alone. My own unhappiness breeds, and only a few people can take it away as of now I think.
That’s all I have for now.
EDIT: Also, if anything, updating seems to make me unhappier. Hmm.
