Sometimes I really wish I could step away from it all. We're overstimulated, as a population. I would spend my time writing in a little hobbit hole somewhere north enough to be small-town but not uninhabitable and occasionally use the internet cafe down the street to check my mail and update a blog or two.
But then I get distracted and can't seem to reduce the clutter in my life because it all demands so much of my attention and where did I put my red sharpie?
Somehow my thoughts leap to the page, unedited, and I can't seem to stop the flow that pulses forward like my blood.
Today's lifestyle has cut into the vein of our existence. We're slowly dying. There is a lot of blood in this entire species, of course. It won't be as quick as with one human. 8 pints X 7 bil.
Moore was right. We're all getting ADD. We can't focus on one thing long enough to get it completed right because we're constantly multitasking. My leg shakes constantly just to keep me going--if I sat still I wouldn't be able to concentrate.
As it is my typing has gone steadily downhill in the past years, from 45 wpm to about 20 if that--that's including deleting to fix typos.
There's just too much.
And I just want to finish my book, and read, and lie in bed on Saturday mornings, philosophizing or maybe just sleeping with Travis, and go to the beach on weekends, and finish school, and maybe get some exercise, and eat right.
But the constant glare of flourescent lights and the shine of the screen make me sick to my stomach and head all day, and the air conditioning makes my breathing funny, and by the end of the day or sometimes 15 minutes into it my eyes are too tired and I walk blind, and I end up sitting for hours without food and by the time it occurs to me to eat I'm too hungry to wait for anything worth eating to cook so I grab a piece of pizza from last night and chow down without heating before retreating into the little cave of technology I inhabit.
Or I go to Kihei and hang out in the gaming center of the respiratory problems and the freezing cold, because I enjoy the company immensely. And I drive home in the dead of morning, very tired and blasting rock to keep myself awake.
I end up sleeping until the after noon, wasting most of the daylight hours on dreams and tossing and turning and occasionally falling out of bed, because a single is way too small for two generously-sized people.
And I feel like I can never find the time to do all that I want or need to do, that I can never find the energy to complete my projects or to keep a steady job.
I find myself shifting my concerns to my own happiness and not really caring who I hurt in that process--isn't it my turn?
And that is selfish of me, because I was put on this planet to do good for others.
But I can't help myself.
And I drop priorities to others and forgot to call others or email them for months at a time, and it's not that I don't care it's just that there's too damn much.
And there are so many expectations that I could just throw up.
So I say fuck it and go back to bed.
