Quick thoughts from a busy thinker

A Story by Domain

I'm currently reading a book that suggested I write a story of about 700 words. This is what I got out without thinking too hard.

Risky. That’s the only word I could use to describe it. I found myself toying with the emotion sitting at the front of my skull longer than needed. My coffee was getting cold and my patience was thinning. I was getting genuinely upset with myself; not for no reason, there’s a reason. The reason in question isn’t as important as my reaction to it.

Who decides what emotions I feel? Is there a man sitting atop the clouds with levers and buttons mashing away as he pleases? I'm assuming it’s a man because of the carelessness of the emotions. It doesn't matter if I have tasks at hand, it doesn't matter if I'm around others, it doesn't matter if I just don't want to feel something. There is ALWAYs something going on in the emotion chamber of my thick skull. I sometimes think about what it is I am actually feeling. It actually bugs me when I just say I'm “sad” or just “happy”. Sometimes I feel like a ball of yarn slowly unspooling, and the end of the string is on fire whilst unspooling, constantly catching up to the whole of the yarn. That’s not happy, or sad; Maybe anxious? That’s what I mean, the one word takes away from the whole feeling I have.

I’m never just feeling one thing either. It’s usually a stacked set of feelings slowly peeling away layer by layer. As soon as one is done being felt the other gets ready to be stark naked and open to my perception. I have some days where I feel completely content. Another word that’s hard to use for the feeling I really have. When I say content I could mean unbothered, or careless, or not currently in a state of impending doom. Add my common disposition of mind clutter, feeling lost, and not caring in a bad way, I seem to be a mess. I’m sure that my peers and loved ones never see me in this state; aside from the ones that I live closely with. Anyway, I’ve done my usual, moved forward 37 steps into the next stratosphere before settling what was originally on my mind.

Love. What a f*****g thing. What a f*****g concept. The more that I think about it the more I realize that in my 1095 weeks or so of life I might have never experienced true authentic love. This thought attacks me mostly because I don’t accept love easily. My trust for other humans is so low I have a hard time eating from fast food restaurants because of my fear of getting poisoned. Add ego onto the list of other concepts I don’t understand; I think that's what makes me have a fear of getting poisoned. I feel highly important in this world of nine billion. I really shouldn’t, I could die while typing this and be remembered by a percentage of the world so low it wouldn’t be worth counting. There goes my cynicism too.

Back to the risk. I'm playing around in my head about how someone could perceive me again. Or whether they do at all. So self involved. Catch me on my early mornings and I can tell you this all doesn’t matter; find me as soon as the sun is down and I will tell you every little thing I’ve ever done wrong and every fear and anxiety I have ever held. With the wind I tell you. I’m essentially so caught up in the weeks that I lose grasp of the present and then lose grasp of my grasp of the present. I often read of how people wish the world could be. I think that’s crazy. There are too many scenarios that could exist if anything was to change. I'm an overthinker by nature, and I also have strong mental imagery. I can live a whole day in a chair without actually seeing the real world. This is a strength and a weakness of sorts; like everything is. I find myself lost in thoughts more often than needed, though I’m scared not to be active inside my head because it feels like a gift. Gifts are overrated anyhow.