I Wouldn't Call Them Voices.....

....More like hyenas scratching at the walls of my brain. For several days now, I have had this continual and deafening chatter occupying the void between my ears. Dozens upon dozens of trains of thought derailing every which way. An old friend of mine once likened this to the awakening of an imaginary Scientist ...A "gentleman" who took up residence in his head and would awaken from his coma at the most inopportune times... Questioning the most mundane logic and resulting in miserable insomnia. To that end, I suppose I'm fortunate in that my sleep has been uninterrupted as of late. But those pesky thoughts - everything from the looming deadlines and tasks to the baffling mystery of how a sewing machine works. Health concerns and mortality playing a trivial game of badminton against zombie flicks and tarot card readings.

I often muse at those under the false impression that I have a good head on my shoulders. I came across a quote last night that dazzled me to that end: "It would be interesting to find out what goes on in that moment when someone looks at you and draws all sorts of conclusions." On the other hand, some things are probably best left unsaid.

The trouble with the mutterings? They present one hell of an obstacle during the structured hours of my existence. There is a good probability I will need to seek other employment in the coming months. Once upon a time, I would have been able to smile in the face of adversity... After all, whether we whittle away our hours entrenched in worry, or sit back and ride the wave, the end result is bound to be the same, no? This is certainly true within reason. As of late, I've found my memory slipping away and that fine line between fantasy and reality unraveling like the threads of an old sweater. I'm not even entirely sure how I got here this morning. (It may not be a bad idea to pray for all those who will be on the road during my adventure back home again)

I tend to believe all of this frizzle-frazzle is my mind's feeble attempt at averting a complete meltdown. Not the most brilliant plan of attack, to be sure. But this would not be the first time I've reacted to everyday crisis in unconventional ways. The more I struggle to focus, the louder the elevator music grows. I fantasize of grabbing my family and running away to a small town nestled on the coast of Italy - or suddenly coming into despicable sums of money and living in a sort of uncharted oblivion. The reality is that I'm 30-40 years away from retirement and at some point I may need to consider growing up.

Whatever happened to those magical days of running away to join the circus?

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Kitty

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

I Wouldn't Call Them Voices.....

....More like hyenas scratching at the walls of my brain. For several days now, I have had this continual and deafening chatter occupying the void between my ears. Dozens upon dozens of trains of thought derailing every which way. An old friend of mine once likened this to the awakening of an imaginary Scientist ...A "gentleman" who took up residence in his head and would awaken from his coma at the most inopportune times... Questioning the most mundane logic and resulting in miserable insomnia. To that end, I suppose I'm fortunate in that my sleep has been uninterrupted as of late. But those pesky thoughts - everything from the looming deadlines and tasks to the baffling mystery of how a sewing machine works. Health concerns and mortality playing a trivial game of badminton against zombie flicks and tarot card readings.

I often muse at those under the false impression that I have a good head on my shoulders. I came across a quote last night that dazzled me to that end: "It would be interesting to find out what goes on in that moment when someone looks at you and draws all sorts of conclusions." On the other hand, some things are probably best left unsaid.

The trouble with the mutterings? They present one hell of an obstacle during the structured hours of my existence. There is a good probability I will need to seek other employment in the coming months. Once upon a time, I would have been able to smile in the face of adversity... After all, whether we whittle away our hours entrenched in worry, or sit back and ride the wave, the end result is bound to be the same, no? This is certainly true within reason. As of late, I've found my memory slipping away and that fine line between fantasy and reality unraveling like the threads of an old sweater. I'm not even entirely sure how I got here this morning. (It may not be a bad idea to pray for all those who will be on the road during my adventure back home again)

I tend to believe all of this frizzle-frazzle is my mind's feeble attempt at averting a complete meltdown. Not the most brilliant plan of attack, to be sure. But this would not be the first time I've reacted to everyday crisis in unconventional ways. The more I struggle to focus, the louder the elevator music grows. I fantasize of grabbing my family and running away to a small town nestled on the coast of Italy - or suddenly coming into despicable sums of money and living in a sort of uncharted oblivion. The reality is that I'm 30-40 years away from retirement and at some point I may need to consider growing up.

Whatever happened to those magical days of running away to join the circus?

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