Morning pages, November 18, 2010

When I can, I sometimes wonder if every mind is as clouded as mine. I don’t think it can be true. How would we have come this far on this little? I feel I have little. My head is an empty room with a few small boxes half-filled with insignificant objects. Some of these objects flicker. Sometimes an object lights up, and I feel something resembling an impulsion. When I am hungry, I am only sort of so. When I am horny, I feel like I’m calling to myself from a hundred yards away in downtown traffic. I barely get the message. People can’t feel like this all the time.

I looked it up online. There’s a few psychological problems that list haziness I’m the mind as a symptom. But I don’t feel depressed or suicidal. I don’t feel afraid of anything or anyone. I mostly just feel broken. I mostly just feel like an outdated and unfinished set of door-to-door encyclopedias.

I’m not good at any job. I’ve never worked at the same place for more than six months. Either I get fired or I quit. When i’m shown the door, poor performance is usually the reason. When I quit, it’s because I’ve saved enough for two months of unemployment and I just don’t see the point of doing the work anymore.

I like the Internet too much. I spend all day in front of my glowing rectangle. Sometimes I’ll read the same story three times and still not remember it in a few hours. Ask the average person what they had for breakfast yesterday and they might not remember. I don’t know where the last month went. I honestly can’t account for the time. I waste my time how most teenagers blow through their first credit card. I don’t want to be this wasteful. I’m sure I could contribute to society in some meaningful way, and I want to. But my mind is hazy. I can’t get past the small room with the small objects. I know enough to know there’s more, because I see people with more. I’m scared to death that the push to be something successful is nowhere inside me.


writing morning pages


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