My brain is weird sometimes. I guess that's a truism when you're prone to depression, anxiety, or just occupy the space outside optimal mental health or sociability, but lately I'm in a space where I'm craving both rest and distraction at the same time. Or connection and solitude. Maybe all I need is cats crawling over top of me and purring. I don't know . Perhaps it's another case of the watched pot never boiling. I was exhausted yesterday so I ended up going to bed early, but couldn't shake the feeling that I'm neglecting things I need to do.
I haven't been diligent with the bullet journal mood tracker this month. I may get back on track for September, but I think I'm going to let myself claim August as a slack month. It must be a luxury to not have to always remind yourself of different tasks you need to complete or goals to reach. Sometimes I don't like going places without my cell phone because I'm afraid I'm going to miss an opportunity to connect with someone I haven't in too long, even if I'm bad at sending out e-mail or Facebook messages. Maybe I'm just hoping for a run-in on the street or at Charlie's?
When I'm bored, I check out the places I used to live on Google Maps, or the places I want to go. There are too many of both. Sometimes I check out the pages on Discogs to see if anyone uploaded new pictures of Canadian cassettes; the big memory triggers from my childhood all seem to be little plastic shells with the label's standard layouts. both changing slightly from year to year. Sometimes I check to see if any female celebrity's drastically changed their hair. Most of the time I check my social media feeds and blogroll for something that I feel like I have the words to respond to, because I'm not great at starting or maintaining the conversation. I just play my Instagram stories in the background so people will see the "watched" notification and perhaps be more inclined to watch mine. Maybe that's why I'm a reader.
I don't know why I'm writing this. I don't know why I do much of what I do outside from it being a habit. I don't know what the perfect me says or does or looks like.
Who do I want to be? Where do I want to go?
I want to keep writing like this, where I'm just zoning out and not putting too much conscious thought into the post. I always feel like I'm trying too hard to convey a thought or feeling instead of just writing whatever it is that my brain tells my fingers to hit on the keyboards. I'm guilty of spending so many idle hours searching for something to excite, entertain, or at the very least distract me instead of using the time to just put something out into the world, but would I just be adding to the noise? Am I just being needy, looking for someone to take the bait and give me the slight endorphin rush with words of their own that affirm that they're reading what I'm writing, and have been moved enough to connect? Who am I actually connecting with? Perhaps these blog posts are poor substitutes for letters I mean to write people but don't feel I can.