Sometimes I wonder if it just me who is trapped in time. If I am the only person who doesn’t feel when time has passed and can’t tell when to stop. The day doesn’t end; it’s just broken up into fragile chapters, which are read, only to quickly fall apart. For someone who doesn’t seem to ever notice the time, it is always moving too fast or too slow.

Words dance across the front of my mind, whispering in my ear. They tell me to stop; they tell me not to feel.
It’s winter and I’m frozen in its grasp, once again. Like the dripping icicle, outside, the one that melts a bit just to freeze some more. I think that if I knew how to stop, then I would have known not to start. I think. I wish. I never really do. I just play hypothetical situations over and over again in my head until nothing makes sense. Stop.
Obviously that’s the first of many of my issues.
The second, of course, is that I’m always searching for something that I’m not quite sure of. In fact, the only drive at all is usually the thought of feeling satisfaction after I have achieved whatever I had once been unsure of. Then, life melts back into its pleasant mundaneness.
Did you know that was a word? I didn’t. I have to make up words sometimes because of the untenent nature of the way we are. Untenent, by the way is my word for something beyond words. That’s important. And ironic, I think.