Disjointed

I find myself so distracted and lost in thought that it's hard to remain in the present. I feel like a time-traveler who can't quite get back. I look at my hands and see furrows that weren't there in another time - the same I see across my face. And I wonder. Am I myself or some chemical derivative... or some combination of the two? One of those, I guess. What's important? That's a good one. Perspective? Which is weird because it's different for everyone. What's truly important? That's better, getting closer to a meaningful conversation, I think. Maslow had an idea: physiological needs, safety, love, esteem, self-actualization. Seems pretty accurate. I fault out on that third one, by my own design, I guess, or maybe nurture, I don't know. 

I like to think that someone will read these thoughts one day - not published or anything, but hopefully my kids. And maybe it will help them better understand a conflicted and imperfect person, if they even care. And maybe they will read and maybe they won't make some of the mistakes I have, but maybe they won't and maybe they will.

If I can somehow bring myself back to equilibrium, I'll focus on things that matter most, and ignore those that matter little. But it's hard, because I'm in an airlock - it's like purgatory; I'm safe but I'm not in the ship yet. And the mistakes I've made, god they're legion. And what was done to me? Does it matter? You can only control your perception and your reaction, nothing else. I wish I wasn't straight-jacketed by distrust. I wish I was quicker witted. I wish the thoughts I have here would come to me in the moment and calm me and steady my reactions. 

You know, I wrote one happy poem in my life - about a sprite in a tree or something, I can't remember exactly. I liked it but it was sort of out of character. Doing this, for me, has always been cathartic, and I don't see anything wrong with that, and I don't feel like I should apologize. You, whoever you are, are my sounding board. I'm closer to you than anyone else, and I whisper things to you I tell no one else.

I could go on for hours, disjointed and out of time... but I'm out of time. Next time.