Not again

I want a "backspace" button. A real life Ctrl-z, so I can go back in time and tell myself how much I'm going to regret doing what I just did in a few seconds, or hours, or days. Because the brain has a wondrous ability to smooth things over, to fill in the blanks, so that a few seconds, or hours, or days later you think "oh but it's ok, it wasn't that bad". And however much I say to myself "yes it was, you're just making that up", it's like being your own mother and your own teenage daughter at the same time. "That guy will break your heart." "Oh mom, you just don't get it."

I Think Thinking about Thinking might be Thinking too much.

I don't like heart attacks. When people grab their left arms. He said it's pain unlike any other, but I don't remember the exact words. [I try to imagine it but it's hard to imagine something you don't know what it's like.] That's why I talked to my cat, you know, that's dead. Maybe it would have been different talking to a person. [I try to imagine who that would be, but I don't know.] I don't even remember who it was I talked to. If I breathe into this stuffed tiger, will it get lots of germs that will mold and give me diseases next time I breathe in it? I wonder if therapy works. If it's like talking to any other stranger or if there's actually some science in there somewhere.

[I see myself in the mirror I pass by.] I haven't looked in a mirror all day but I look pretty decent for an unplanned stay-at-home outfit. My haircut sort of failed. It looks good when I fix it but I'm usually too lazy. Wearing headphones make the sides look silly. I should try to write down the thing with the dude. If I write it in pieces it might work, but I might be too lazy to fill in the blanks later. There could be different sorts of powered humans, by science and by... I need to figure out how demon powers work. Like tesla? [I fold up the hood of my sweater and look in the mirror again.] Hair looks totally cool like this. I should brush my teeth after dinner too. Hm, although this was dinner.

[My roomie is going to do laundry, I peek out of the bathroom. She looks me funny and leaves.] Maybe she wondered why I had my hood on in the bathroom? Maybe I imagined she looked at my funny. If she got kidnapped I wouldn't notice if I go to sleep now. I should stay awake until she's done. "Don't get kidnapped by aliens," is what I should say to her. I wonder if that's code for me being worried but unable to say something more sensible. This is silly.

I could write a poem. I haven't done that in a while. I woke up ahead of the alarm this morning, so I'm not setting it now. Poems are annoying and inspiration-dependent. [I hear my roomie come back, I've closed the door to my room.] Now I didn't tell her to not get kidnapped by aliens. If she is kidnapped and murdered, when I find out, I'll think "why didn't I tell her to not get kidnapped by aliens", and if people could know that, they'd think I was a very odd person.

I wonder why people think people think odd things. Doesn't everyone have these kind of thought-chains? Is it really anything to be excited about? I enjoy being amused by my own brain. Fuck poetry. I should write this on my blog instead before sleep. Where should I start?

The Birth of a Short Lived Poem

I lost a thought.

It happens. I was walking back from a test, it had gone better than I thought (which isn't saying much since I expected to fail completely) and most of all, no more tests for weeks and weeks and no studying to do for a whole weekend. It had been cold, but just as I stepped outside the door the sun went up, the whole glistening snow and imaginary birds singing, you know the story. Life was good to me for half an hour. So I had a thought.

I get thoughts when I do nothing, and am alone. Mostly it manifests when I walk, since walking is painfully boring, and I prefer to walk alone so I can keep my own pace and pretend I'm somewhere else so I won't notice how boring walking is, and also when I know exactly where I'm walking so I don't have to pay attention. Also when I'm walking in remote places where there aren't much people who can see me, because I need to "talk" to myself, move my lips at least to focus my thoughts into words.

Thus I walked home this shiny morning and I had a thought. A long, intricate thought, focused through a beautifully crafted rhyming poem. A thought that connected me to the rest of the world, to the sky, the snow and the reflecting surfaces of polished cars, to the morning light and the smoke and fumes. It was a simple poem, but a thought spun of the finest of threads in the hands of the most skilled goddess of fate.

I've lost the thought. It happens. It doesn't matter. A week, a month, a year from now I'll be walking alone down a road in the morning light, and I'll have another thought. Maybe the same thought. And while I wait for that, I guess I'll just keep myself busy.