It’s kind of fitting. When I got out of the car, the last song on the radio was “This is not where I belong.” It’s not. It’s so apparent so often.
I feel restless. I want to crawl out of my skin. Maybe it’s the feeling of freshly cut hair prickling at my body. The feeling of fat as I haven’t been eating right or working out. It could be a crushing burden at work, as I simply feel overwhelmed. Is it my disappointment as to where my writing is, when two years ago, fresh from heart shattering, I made so many strides towards that very career choice.
Ever become really aware of your body? You realize your fingers can’t stop rubbing over each other. You feel every stretch in your tendons. Right now I’m apparently sitting just right to stretch out my gluts in some weird fashion where it feels like I’m just sitting on bone. I think I’m starting to kink some nerves. Direly need to lose weight and stretch.
It’s not that I’m not making moves. I’ve edited like a mad man. I’ve started setting up some future plans. I’ve planned. The whole Volden concept has a direction. But driving in the car all day, I have not been able to find my music. I cannot find the songs I’m looking for. It’s been maybe a half dozen songs on repeat, and that’s all that’s keeping this vessel together.
Maybe it’s the exploration of Lovecraft, as I work towards my autumn story, realizing it will be horror. When I read him before, I’d fall asleep with his book in my hands. Tentacle laced dreams greeted me, waking me up with terror and cold sweat. At least I’m back to brainstorming. It’s been too long since I’ve really done it from scratch.
It all makes sense eventually. I suppose I have a friend willing to unlock my potential with his demonic and alien abilities. The path isn’t that blurred for me to walk in that direction though. I say this with humor. I’m not having aliens and demons unlock my “potential.” Yum, acid.
Anyway, off to edit. The arts seem the only drug which cures this addict’s itch, so I might as well imbibe it plentifully.