I haven't blogged in ages, I may have forgotten how to do it. Let me try.
Lately, time has been moving in pond circles. It's almost as if I have aged a thousand centuries and I'm now looking down upon humanity with its trivial pursuits and wondering what I could possibly want. Most of the time, it feels like I don't really want anything.
Conversations fade into the background of my thoughts, I'm never really paying attention even when I look like I am, and socializing is such a humungous drain. Every time I'm out with someone, all I can think about is when I'm coming home.
I'm also having trouble with my personal pursuits, I don't seem to want anything so the drive is not there anymore. Even the things I know I want, I seem to psych myself out of them only to browse for hours with a feeling of restlessness that could make the sphinx get up and take a stroll.
I don't know what's wrong with me, I had so many dreams growing up.
I still do.
I want to write a book, make a game, and travel the world. I want to build an international animal rescue network and do martial arts well into my 50s.
But even when I was travelling lately I'd get hit by that sudden bout of ennui. It is unshakeable and overwhelming, all it does is eat away at your presence until there's nothing left but a whiff of you that suggests you were there but no longer are.
I keep telling myself I should just do things and it will go away, but it doesn't go away. It's a state of being. I don't want to spend my thirties like this, or what's left of my twenties. But how do I move out of a state of being?
I can't remember the last time I was excited about something in a way that lasted, and more importantly, I can't remember the last time I expressed that excitement and pursued similar feelings out loud.
It might not sound that big but it's really important, to be loud about the things you are.
I miss writing too, I haven't done it in ages. I had this story that I started on Medium and I deleted all four chapters of it on an immensely stupid day. I wish I hadn't, it was wonderful and I doubt I can write it again, the way it was anyway.
A huge part of me says stop chasing away the feeling and just start doing regardless of it, which is what I do sometimes, but the feeling is horrible and I want it to go away. It's also hard to describe, it's a nothingness that has volume and mass and stretches out like there's little to push against until it consumes everything, then it sits there on your face like a huge fucking cat that won't let you breathe.
Sometimes I think it's not actually a feeling, but the absence of a feeling that should be in its place - an indulgence maybe, or an ongoing conversation with yourself that leaves little room for intrusion.
Other times, it feels like the presence of something bigger that's stuck in the smaller space of my head and won't let me have nice things.
Either way, I want to roundhouse kick it out of my consciousness so I could go on living without pause.
I hope it goes away soon, or I figure out what it is, whichever works. I can't take that for a year or more. I can barely take it throughout one evening.
Maybe someone else has felt it, or has a name for it. What do you call this thing that watches you watch things and lies in wait in case they tickle you so it can rub lotion on your skin and keep you all gooed up and expectant, watching from afar?
I don't even know anymore.
It even affects my writing. The minute I sit down and grab a pen to document a thought or a feeling, it stops me from finishing the sentence because what does it matter if I write this or not, what does it do in the bigger scale of things?
And here's the thing, I don't even care about the bigger scale of things, or if it does something or not, so it's not even a viable argument.
What is it, anyway? It's not sadness, per se. Or maybe it is. Can you feel sad without feeling sad? Is it a repercussion of sadness? This absolute stillness that has weight and won't move?
The way I see the world has changed so much lately because of it, I watch things like I'm a thousand miles away, and I feel the seconds painstakingly tick by against a wall of air that separates me from feeling it. It's like bubble boy, but with feelings instead of microbes.
It's almost like the aftermath of intense shock, or the feeling you get when you wake up on a cold morning having not really woken up.
Is this what Nausea was on about? That book was mad. I should reread it.
Fucking hell I can't read either though, for the same fucking reason! I think in between the lines, and then again in between words. And then I think while I'm thinking and I have to read it all over again.
I had this feeling in Aswan and Louxor too. I remember being on a boat, really enjoying the view and the wind and trying my best to remember it exactly from where I was sitting for as long as I can. As I did that, time weighed down on me, like the minutes were scratching my skin as they were dragged away from me in the longest cutscene ever known to man. Time was passing, I thought, and it was too slow.
I've been getting this everywhere, and especially when I'm around people. My social battery runs out so fast now, and I space out as they're talking to me and travel to that heavy place.
What's the point of anything if you're feeling like this? And when does it go away?
I want to remember to write about my trip, or try to write about it. I should have written about it while I was there, but I was too busy getting in the way of myself to do that. Maybe it's because I'm getting in my own way that I didn't write about it. Introspection is the shit.
