There is a sudden sinking sensation when one comes to the realization that there are few people on the planet that can comprehend the head space you live in. In one way, it’s beautiful. Sure I will cross the paths of people (generally other writers) who will make me feel sane, but every day of my life I am surrounded by minds of a different calibre. Not worse. Not better. Different.
It feels lonely at times, but it’s a solidarity that I wouldn’t give up. Should I want to feel content or crowded with normal thoughts, I could just turn on that mask and head into the real world. Unfortunately keeping a grasp on everything in the attic isn’t an easy task. Or really a goal that is ever fully accomplished. There’s no instruction manual. The best remedy for the struggle is to surround yourself with equally odd people. Mixed insanity settles down into a calming, plagiarized version, of still water; sentient normalcy.
Sometimes we have these struggles to force our perspective to change on a specific subject. Other times, it’s just to test our will as beings. Regardless of the circumstances, the outcome is the same. Either you will drown in the foreboding post-apocalyptic world this earth will seem within the mess, or you thrive and the trees stay green. All of us who are living are thriving, as we make headway in our lives, as we wake and sleep each day. We are succeeding in something. Which variable of life that is can parallel those next to you, or be way off in left field. But thriving we are. In one way or another.
I know that brilliant people tend to see the shade before the shine, but it is essential to understand that where you may sit in life can be vastly different than where you stand in it. I have the pleasure to be acquainted with a fantastic writer, who’s overall intelligence and taste far supersedes that of what most possess. And I find myself wishing I could calm any jumble that plagues her while she struggles to settle into a decent sleep. But at the end of the day there’s no knowledge to pass down. A long span of time has passed since I learned how I work artistically, yet I’ve learned nothing on how to control it. This *points to this blog* helps. I will write myself empty on days I struggle to see through the jungle of thoughts, and it brings an exit sign into clearer view. But there is no encompassing clarity to be had. It’s a frustrating but equally rewarding trudge.
Baggins and I have been talking again, after a few days of radio silence. Or at least not our normal expression of reverberating affection. I hit a few targets on the resolution front. While our connection is unique and beautiful, it was extremely obvious from the start of it that she was both in no need of a saviour, and in no need to save. I mistook my desire for affection as a wish to be in love or at least be someone’s significant other. When the truth is that I am still not in any shape to love. If things had worked out differently between her and I, it would not have been the best version of me I could put forth. It wouldn’t have been fair to her, or to anybody that followed. We will keep our unique connection with each other, and bask in the sentiment that it will most likely not be mirrored by any other player in our lives.
I need a weekend of pure nothingness. Empty day planner, great music (and maybe a BLT). Just to lay in bed and catch up on NOTHING. My mind is jumping like bare feet on hot sand.