Six Pence None the Richer

Sometimes I think that I am a child in a coma. That I was hit by a car or something (that would explain my car anxiety) and that I've been in a coma since 1999. I think that it was a rainy day. Yeah, it was a rainy day. All of this is one big hallucination. A byproduct of a damaged brain. None of this is real. Everything that I know now, everything that I've experienced since the start of the coma is a lie. I'm still eight years old. And when I die in this experience, that's when I wake up from the coma. I cotinue my life navagating in a different path, using the knowledge and experiece that I've gained while in the coma. I know that the thought is bizzare and completly out there, but who's to say that it's not possible? We don't really know all that much about how the mind works, never mind how eistance works. Maybe this theory is right and that's why we experience moments of de ja vu and repeat things. Little bit of a glitch in the Metrix or what? I prepetually spend my non-working days seeking out extreme pleasures. I'm perpetually seeking stimuli. Even at work my thoughts race 'm always craving something new. I've been reading like mad lately and watching hours and hours of documentaries. I'm doing whatever I can to experience excitement and add to my general knowledge. I feel that I need to be doing at least two things at once. I can't keep any type of focus. When I'm watching shows, regardless of what it is, I need to be reading something as well; usually something on a completly different subject. I almost feel like I will fall apart if I'm not preoccupied with something. I'm running on a lot less sleep these days. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun while I sip Diet Coke while combing through my list of things that I want to do. I've already packed the next year with all sorts of trips, tattoos and events to attend, bought tickets and booked hotels. I've got totals, budgets and payments made. I'm seeing out new and exciting forms of pleasure. I've complusively organsised every detail of every trip all the way to the end of May. It feels like I'm trying to cram all that I can in my waking hours; almost as if I'm going to miss something if I'm not awake, focused on something. I don't know where this pressing urge is coming from. It's been getting worse over the last few months. I've opted to start taking medications again, but so far it's only helped keep things spinning faster I think. I've been sleeping a lot less in the past three weeks. I try to sleep at night. I spend hours tossing and turning, a cathartic narrator explains just why Ted removed her head. There's just something interesting about that, like what's the need for it, besides the obvious, to avoid indentification of the body. I mean, less of a concern in his day though. Naughty, Naughty, Teddy boy. And then there are the other days when I spend my days curled up under a blaket in the dark watching old telly shows like the Brady Bunch or Laverne and Shirley. I wonder how much longet until I crash this hard and wind up crying in the shower? How much longer until the fatigue hits me and I crash hard? What will I reach for when I need that pick me up once again?There are times when I lay in bed, wondering if all the ink that covers my body will begin to bleed. It will run out of me, soaking through the duvet and the sheets. Eventually it will pool on the floor. Patterns of cool coloured light criss-cross my body. I began to sink through the bed, falling through a paradox of memory. I fall through time, watching my younger self move in reverse. I'm powerless to watch painful memories play themselves out in reverse, giving it the misleading apperence that everything always had a happy ending. I don't know what I'm doing here, on this Earth, during his period in time. Why am I who I am. Why have I gone through what I've done through? Does it mean anything at all or is it just an experience? And what even is an experience? It's more than just a memory. And a memory is a moment. Does that make every moment a memory? Maybe I'm over thinking things once again. Then I think about actions. Good or Bad. But what even is good and bad? Everyone has their own ideas of what is good and what is bad, even within the generally accepted idea of the behaviour and ideals. And what of those who don't understand the concepts, don't think about the concepts or don't want to accept the concepts? What of those who turn good into justice? But justice isn't always fair and it's certainly not always good. Although it can be arousing in a revenge sort of way. (Don't mind me just thinking out loud here.) And what is bad anyway? And does bad always have to mean some sort of dangerous? What about dangerous fun? That's the best kind there is. I like taking different types of risks, depending on my mind set. A manic risk is totally different from a deppressive risk. They're both rewarding and deveistating in the same wave length, just different ends of a spectrum. I don't know where I fall on the spectrum. It's always changing. It's almost chacotic. And that's why I like my sleep. Most of the time it's just a blackness that I have no memory of. Every decade of my life has been something different. The world was a different place. Rapid change occuring over a 10 year period of time. From 10 to 20 from 20 to 30. I wonder what will happen from 30 to 40.