Blog #562

Another day full of raucous music. >=] I was going to leave messages on everyone’s phone but I couldn’t think of good songs to do. My voice sucks now. D= I need le practice, lol. 

I’m feeling like nows a good time to go back to being really solitary. I’ve been really social for a while now and I’m exhausted. I could just go up to my room and not come out for days and that would be okay. Maybe I will attempt to do that towards the end of saturday and all of sunday. Sounds like a plan….I’m really due for a good sit like that where you can just think and find things for yourself to do. I’m pretty excited by the prospect of all that still. I <3 the stillness. A perfect vacation from my life. ^____^ 

Who knows, maybe it’ll be the perfect antidote to my writers-block-ish thing I’ve been experiencing.  I’ve been feeling stifled when it comes to writing, I just can’t come up with ideas. Also things to think about. I know what’s interesting to me but none of it is clicking and/or inspiring me. I want to consider something but I cannae think of anything compelling, let alone interesting enough (to me)  to actually type out. There’s plenty of interesting things, of course, like the psilosybin trials or reflections on the zimmerman trial, or on snowden. But eh. My words just can’t be bothered. 

I’m going to go to bed early today. Hoping to have one of those great sleeps where you wake up and don’t feel tired, not one bit, and you don’t have a headache and everything is just sybaritic. I have a feeling it’s going to turn out that way. I have a feeling right in my stomach that it’s going to be good. >=]

 Or maybe not, maybe I’ll dream a hazy dream filled with smoke and I’ll sleepwalk through a steamy forest. And then I’ll meet these lithe forest-people who are like elves but not actually elves and they’ll play music that’s terribly haunting and dance a haunting and beautiful dance and I won’t dance because I can’t. I’d want to and my soul would be dancing but I myself wouldn’t be able to because of my body is this shell, like a mud that’s been on something for long enough that it dries and it becomes this thick, restrictive shell on the real thing. Very unclean, very hampered, very ensnared. And then they’ll be disappointed in me and my sitting there watching and harshing their mellow, so they’ll fly away on fairie wings and I’ll walk some more in the steam-and/or-fog forest and it’ll be empty and I’ll go crunch crunch throught he leaves and I won’t be myself at all.

I’m feeling that way too, like I’m not really me at all, like I’m outside of myself. My night could go either way. Or some direction I never thought of.