Sensory

There are not names or faces for those that I write to. There are eyes on screens. Fingertips reaching.  

The end of my day seems to routinely culminate in exhaustion and aching awareness of each footstep taken. The last moments of active consciousness are typically spent planning the footsteps for tomorrow & the rest of the week. Subtle anxieties swirl in tune with my breath. Am I superficial? Am I manipulative? Am I too eager? Of course, alone here, I muster up the most change-provoking answer I can. Then, I imagine an immediate change in course. 

Today has been incredibly quantitative. 

Numbers exhibit a sense of preciseness. Something sharp and exact. Something that slices your hands as your grip gets right. Today showed me no dull edges. I've stayed engaged to the most of my abilities and that says something. You can't close your eyes when you are at risk of being shredded to pieces. 

Drafts of Me

It has been a while and I am sorry for that. My writing does not serve as just a place for others to possibly find a common ground, but for me, myself to find some sort of grip on the flurry of thoughts that consume my conscious days. 

Even now, as I open a new draft on my blog, I am reminded of the drafts that have yet to be completed since June. Maybe this one won't make it any further either. 

To describe my state of mind in the last few months, the allusion of merry-go-rounds come to fruition. My point in the world is fixed and rotating at the same time. And the world is spinning at a different rate. Everything moves slow and fast at the same time. This makes trying to focus on anything bring on an overwhelming sense of nausea. Not to mention, the lights are bright and colorful and changing- causing storms to erupt in the back of my brain. The laughter and music and conversation around me becomes a muddled groan. 

My instant reaction- Close your eyes. Shut them tight and hide your head. 

It is more than being overwhelmed. It is edging on assault. Every time I am open to it, life hits a crescendo that causes me to recoil. Sick to my stomach. Then, I leave it unedited and unfinished. Now, I have these moments chronologically listed and highlighted with a label that reads 'DRAFT'. Otherwise, unidentified. Possibly to be continued.