Thoughts

I have so much to do, so much in my head. I have trouble keeping it straight. I no longer waste the time I used to, so where is all the extra time?

I am starting again today, just to put pen to paper. I have so much that I can feel it trying to escape. I try to grab it, but I know some of it is gone.

I do not want to lose it. I want to capture it. How can I do that? Picasso painted. What do I do?

I try to do, but I feel trapped. I just want to be free. It feels good to let it out. What is trapping me?

I keep rereading my post, afraid to let go. Why is that I must look back? Is it me that is holding me back?

I love her, she makes me feel good. I want her. Sometimes she makes me feel smothered and at other times so far away. Her hair smells good, it makes me forget everything. The world begins and ends in my arms. When she is there the rest of the world exists as a shadows.

I want to be able to write, to put my opinion out there, but I find it takes so long.

Why is my writing so littered with "I"? I want to know. Is it because I seek reflection, or because I can not look past myself. I want the knowledge of wise reflection to come sooner. The stuff that only comes with thought. But also the kind of stuff that obstructed by too much reflection and dwelling. Dwelling leads to wasted time, like the rereading of my emails after every couple of sentences I write.

It just feels like things escape me so fast these days.

I understand that my perception is reality, and that reality is all a matter of perception. It makes those that believe their own lies seem closer to normal.

Those are my thoughts. I feel leaner.

What do I remember about today....
Woke up, silenced to many alarms, I think she silenced my early alarm. She did not pump it up, but did let the dog out. Yellow and blue, she put together a cliff bar and pizza to take. No possums saved today. The commute mundane, only the older lady driving the g35. Len arrived at same time. Dan lit up the hall, but was not to be seen. Lunch off of Alban. Broken pipes. Bugs. Great chicken marinara. desperate to clean up. Missed loved ones, arguments.