Whenever I get too tangled, too overwhelmed with everything that clings to me and tries to drown me, I tread back.
I may not have enough memories,… but I still have music I listened to 15 years ago. I have series I used to watch over and over, alone in the world.
I cling to the feeling of ‘back then’ that comes back with the old stories I re-read.
So I put them on the background and try to rewind my mind into that state in the past. When the air was clearer and my bones were lighter.
And, just maybe, then I’ll have enough clarity to deal with the present.
life
I have a seriously bad relationship with time.
Bigger problems aside,
I feel like I need at very least there to be 60 hours in a day to not feel like I’m being dragged by my hair through the mud and can’t manage anything or catch up to anything. Or like, y’know, take a breath?
And it’s not like ‘slow’ was ever particularly an adjective to describe me… But I just really, really, can’t deal with how fast the time is flowing.
2-3 times a week I tend to have rather strange waking-up thoughts.
My favourite to this day is likely the “If you poke a vampire with a stick he will become dry and delicious” one, which I voiced to a friend who was waking me up after 4 hours of sleep many years ago.
Recently, I woke up with a thought about “whether a person who did not grow up with parental love (let’s define this parameter as ‘an ideal healthy family situation with 2 caring parents present’) can truly write from a perspective of a person who did not, and vice versa.”
I also dreamt about a discussion of responsibility of adults towards those around them vs. towards only themselves.
Can I please sleep without being so busy?
English-speaking internet once in a while likes to freak out about the Mario Karts on the streets of Tokyo thing, and those people actually literally ride around my house practically every day…
They also were sued by Nintendo, lost, and were officially banned… and yet I keep seeing them around.
My brain likes very much to form some curios sensory memory pathways (while often vigorously refusing to form most procedural ones).
Usually, because I almost constantly ‘do something while doing something else’, some kind of random association will cement itself in my mind. I will remember in every detail what kind of soup I ate while playing at what place in what game and while watching what movie some 15 years ago every time I eat that soup, or remember that game or movie. I will strongly associate a certain episode from a show with a certain kind of candy I ate while watching it for the nth time. Or a song with a specific chapter in a book and a memory of a stranger’s apartment or a hotel room. I have a specific perfume of mine I now associate firmly with Bloodborne.
This is significant for me because I have memory problems and usually remember shit about my own life, unless I happen to smell something that will bring me back to some place in the past. Or like the only New Years Eve from ages 0-14 that I can remember is the one when there was Die Hard on the tv while we were getting ready to go out.
The thing is, for more than a year now I keep reading fanfiction on certain set of characters (don’t ask me why I refuse to say ‘fandom'(not only because I misspelled is as ‘famdom’ before)) for an hour every night before I sleep and every morning after waking up (because it’s short, I can check tags, and it’s written by many different people with many different bats in the belfry perspectives), and after first few months it reached that point where I start to feel like stepping into the world of those characters the second I walk into my own bedroom. Which opens some interesting writing possibilities… if I had any more freedom about what I can read and when.
Incidentally, this is also the only routine I’ve been able to keep for this long. Or for any significant amount of time, really.
I’ve always had troubles remembering my own age (and a tendency to blink stupidly for a few moments when people ask my name), but I guess this just gets more socially terrifying the older you become.
I’ve spent about 20 minutes talking to a person while being completely certain that I was 4-5 years younger than I actually am. And only later it downed on me. As in “Hold on… what year is this?”
I wish I could do accents. Like on regular basis.
My ears are all ecstatic about the sound, but I can never really control how I pronounce things for more than one specific second.
Hell, I can’t really control what I say in general. Let alone how I say it.
they’re showing Speed on tv and I find myself staring at it and trying to remember how it felt to watch for the very first time it in 1994
I come from a long line of crazy workaholics
people who can’t make themselves rest,
rest by finding new ways to work,
and worry all the time about everything
people keep asking me if I’m gay, and if I say ‘hm, not really?’ they squint at me and say “are you sure?…”
Because apparently they are pretty sure I should be.
And when I say ‘people’, I mean both men and women of different countries.
They also tell me that “it would make more sense if you were a man” a bit too often,
… whatever that means.
And I don’t tell them that I know for sure, that if I happened to be born a man in the same circumstances I was born in, I wouldn’t be alive right now.
There was also a person once who went as far as too say that I should’ve been ‘a man and gay’, and then I would be ‘easier to understand’.
I was so petrified by the ridiculousness of that statement I couldn’t even bring myself to ask them what the hell was wrong with their images of gender identities that they felt the need to change me twice over so that I would fit in there.
I know I have hard time relating to women, but I often had hard time relating to humans in general… And I never really felt it was a problem of my gender, and that I should concern myself with questions of how to identify… I mostly felt that it was a question of ridiculous stereotypes falsely constructed by various societies, and we should be able to be ‘men’ and ‘women’ however the hell we want. … though I do sometimes wonder what exactly makes people make these assumptions about me…
Every woman sometimes really needs someone to take the weight off her shoulders…
Literally.
…ya know, like, a designated boob holder … upholder? …uplifter? …carrier?
In other words
it’s the
“push me, push me, I want to taste how it feels to fly, before I hit the ground”
state of mind
I will bind and cover hundreds of pages with my insanity
and make my wings out of them
and next time I need to fly and not hit the ground…
… I will.
I’m being overly honest about things in a way that might just screw me over in near future in ways I can’t really afford.
I’m setting myself up for a rejection that might just kill me, because I’m afraid of many many things, but dying, metaphorically or not so much, perhaps never really was one of them.
I’m daring them to show me there can be a different outcome, because I never liked that Einstein’s definition of insanity, and still want to believe that if you do the right thing it will get the right response. Even if not the first dozen times.
It’s like a screwy kind of trust exercise, when I give people the knife, stand on the edge and tell myself there still might be a chance that they won’t do it. While kinda wanting to see the (after)world when they do.
You know how long before your flight you need to get to security check for a domestic flight in Japan?
20 minutes.
Eat that.
My birthday coincides with the day of Earth’s 1st contact,
and people don’t appreciate my Star Trek hoodies enough.
Keina Daria 