This post is not pleasant. I am going to make an observation and don’t expect any of you to answer, if at all, truthfully.
Do you wish/have you ever wished anyone would just die? Not because you bear them ill will, just because you’d like to tick a box (make that a coffin), breathe a sigh of relief and be done with that person?
Can’t believe I am writing this but there it is.
Being a practical person I search for solutions. In absence of which an answer may suffice.
Here is a question. I’ll paint you the scenario: I just picked a book (off my well tended and regularly and lovingly dusted bookshelves) and opened it. So far so great. Like meeting an old friend. You pick up where you left off; revisiting the past.
And then? AND THEN? Then, and no sooner had I opened page 172, one of those tiny little critters shoots out of it, hurtling along, no doubt not knowing what to do with exposure to daylight. Let’s leave aside that I never knowingly disturb anyone, I’d not even dream to raise the dead; however, and this is the question: What is the actual purpose of “beings” like that? What do they add to the world – ours and theirs? On the bright side they don’t bore holes into your books, they don’t sting, they don’t make any noise, they don’t defecate (as far as I can tell); they just are. What for?
I do not wish to startle you lest your comfort zone’s wall starts crumbling. Today’s burning question is:
Do you ever find yourself amusing? And, if so, will you freely admit to it?
Sweethearts, I am not saying I am one but this minute I most certainly do feel like an IDIOT.
Any ideas? Please spare me the glib. I need serious input. Unless it’s too late. In which case slime will do.
I have just realized something truly awful:
My mind is like a vacuum cleaner. It’ll suck up anything coming along its way. Eagerly. Setting on MAX.
How do I change the bag? Please don’t tell me to get a Dyson.
The last few days I have come to conclusions, hard and fast. I don’t like coming to conclusions. It’s so dead end.
Float my boat and indulge me. Please. This is not a trick question, just a question:
What colour(s) is your sofa/are your sofas?
They say that when you look into a mirror you’ll see yourself differently to those who look at you. I don’t like that notion: I want to see myself as others – in their myriad varieties – do.
Should I get my head examined?
My dreams are so real, I wake up and find myself answering an email, or commenting on a blog post – neither of which exists. Am I going crazy? Last night Phil “posted” an example of a moral dilemma similar to the one I outlined recently. On waking I saw his text in front of my mind’s eye as clear as if it were on the screen. HELP! It gets worse: Some of you had already “commented” on it. Again, what any of you “said” clearly imprinted on my brain. HELP!
I recently warned my father (I’d never tell my mother – she wouldn’t like it) that I might be going mad: In my sleep I write texts, black on white, as clear as if it were daylight. So far so nothing. However, and this is where even he went quiet: After waking I bloody remember the lot, word perfect. Is this normal? Maybe it doesn’t matter whether it’s normal or not. What’s normal anyway? Still, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I have three – irrational though not unreasonable – fears: And one of them is losing my sanity. I keep telling myself that there is no need to panic: I haven’t cut off one of my ears or kissed a horse in Turin – yet.