I tend to always be worrying about something in the back of my brain. I can't help it, it's in my wiring. Growing up I got sick a lot, and I think I just got used to something always coming along to ruin my good time. I don't get as sick now as I did then, I don't think, but I can't seem to shake the feeling that I've caused myself to become infected with something, and although I've seen no immediate signs of anything, it's coming and each day It's not here is luck. This is the kind of ramble that goes through my head when it decides it needs to, and I have been ineffective at finding a solution.
I can't quite seem to find the battery behind thoughts like this so as to rip it out. Some part of me thought I would leave this habit in New York, but the brain made the journey with the thoughts stowaway in the back. I'm not surprised that it's happening in Los Angeles, I understand that it's part of my process and I'm getting used to the waves it causes. I think as I get older these waves will morph into more adult versions of themselves, and in a more adult manner, I will continue to try and body-surf them. Ironically the prospect of living with these for the rest of my life doesn't worry me, it's losing my equilibrium when I've learned to ride them that scares me the most.
It can be very frustrating at times because I think I think things are great and for some goddamn reason my super imaginative brain begins clapping and before I know it my good time has changed it's mind and is hard at work mulling over every possible scenario of my mystery condition. And once that switch has been flipped every breath and twitch my body breathes and twitches is a part of my new condition.
I'm being dramatic of course, I am able to speak aloud and operate a car and order Thai food like any other person, it's just then when I must, I do this with Edgar Allen Poe dictating in the back-left corner of my head. Sometimes, when I'm not ready to surf a wave, it hits me off guard and I am sucked into living it's predictions - at these times my frustration with this proclivity is greatest.
I'm not insane, I'm pretty sure, I said to myself. Frankly I'm fascinated by my instinct to grimly narrate my own future, and to date, it hasn't left me pacing around my apartment taking naps between interrogating myself for more than a couple of days on end. But cummon man, I haven't exactly had the most normal of lives, I should feel lucky that this is about as bad as it gets.
Well, not as bad as this new thing I have... That things like real bad.
