Just to be writing

Just to be writing

by Matthew Brewes on Thursday, May 29, 2008 at 12:41pm
It is currently 12:09pm central standard time, Thursday May 29th and I’m sitting in front of my computer, listening to Tori Amos’ “Precious Things” on my iPod. It’s overcast outside. I wish it would rain. I like the rain, it makes me feel better. I could live where it rains all of the time and be content. It’s strange the things you get connected to, images or words that find resonance. People too, I suppose. A lot of people have passed through my life, yet some linger more than others and you never really know why. Or at least I don’t. For someone who spends most of his existance inside his own head you’d figure I’d have some more answers, a little bit more insight, but all I get are more questions. So much for introspection. Every time I sit down and try to write, there is so much I want to say, but my ability to be articulate is fickle at best. That and there’s always the fear that what I want to say shouldn’t be said. So I try and edit it, because I don’t want to offend, or be inappropriate, or burden others with my own selfish desire. Maybe that’s it, or maybe I just don’t have the words like I used to. So I’m sitting here just babbling on the keyboard, pounding into the keys because if I don’t there’s a very real chance that I’ll just go completely insane in the silence, with only the words in my head burying me. Every moment of every day I am reliving the last moment, the last hour, the last day, the last years, over and over again, playing everything out like a never ending documentray of my life. I question the things I’ve done, the things I’ve said or left unsaid, rewinding and re-writing, seeing if I can find all the possible paths. What I should have done, could it have been better or would I have made it worse? I know I could have said that better, this is how I would have said it if I could go back. Just over and over, I can’t let anything go. If I’m not in the past, I’m contemplating the future, analyzing every action, possible consequence, playing out scenarios that I know will never happen just so I’ll be prepared. Never a dull moment in here. I try to write every now and then, but my brain throttles itself. I’m full of ideas, but no stories. So I go to work, I take care of my kids, I go to sleep and I repeat. That’s it. I guess the same could be said for most people though. I wonder if they try and think about why they like the rain though? Or if they sit in front of a computer mindlessly typing ever random thought that’s popping through thier heads? I’m listening to “Fix You” by Coldplay now. Strange how I always wanted to fix people, to help when I can’t seem to fix myself. Of course, I don’t think people know how close to insanity I am. I’m very good at allying suspicions, nobody every thinks the soft spoken, even tempered guy is a nutjob. I bet anybody who knows me would probably be shocked to find that at least once a day I want to take a complete stranger and hit them until I feel the bones of thier skull crack under my fist. Of course, this would require somebody to know me, which I have taken great and excessive pains to prevent. In fact, this could be all fiction, so even those of you who might read this and think you may finally have some insight into the inner workings of me will still be left with some doubt as to the veracity of any of this. I make myself up every single day, telling a different story to anybody who will listen. It works wonderfully. No one ever seems to pick up on the inconsitancies or contradictions. Sometimes I wonder if I even can remember a time before the person I am was just a series of fictions. When did I first begin writing myself? I don’t think I really care, because I’m my own best character. I don’t think anybody’s going to read this. But that’s not the point, I just need to be typing. I can’t say the things that I want, so I’ll say this and fuck you all if you don’t like it. Now it’s “Clumsy” by Our Lady Peace. There have been other songs while I’ve been typing, but the ones I’m putting in are those that catch my attention as I meander. This is one of my favourites because it’s apt. I’ve been clumsy all of my life. Mostly with people. I can’t understand people, so I hate them. I find the act of trying to be clever or sociable to be so onerous sometimes that I wish I could just walk away and not have to deal with it. I never say the right things. This is deffinately not the right thing. But it’s been said, and I feel better for the moment.

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