with a pen, paper, and guitar.

[bryiarrose]

it's finally starting to cool off, though now my apartment is filled with tiny bugs that have slipped through the screen to flirt with my lights and brush my neck and ankles as they flit. and i jump as they startle me. it's still too warm, too sticky. the humidity has filled my head and coherency seems near impossible... and yet i strive for it because i have to. i want to fall into bed and hear rain and not think about writing--not think about anything.

i've been watching out for patterns again. the way i walk my life. the way i want. i don't know if i see them, i don't know if they're there. still, at least i look.

i wonder what it would be like to be able to simply stop. stop everything and slowly start again. hide away on a mountain with out work or money or drugs or distractions. to take away every stress and see what life would be. it's beyond wishful thinking. not that i want to be thoreau. just that i'd like to be me. again. for once. and it seems to be a lot to ask.

Comments

Careful what you wish for...

[febrile.livejournal.com]

My experiment in unemployment is as much a visit to Walden Pond as anything else -- a naive attempt to try to reconnect with the me that I am when I have the time to be me. It's fascinating and scary, and the more I think on my indolence of the past month, the more I wonder whether me-at-work isn't the me I'm supposed to be.

I'm not done trying to find out yet, but it's an interesting bit of wanky thinking nonetheless.