Living backwards and blind

Why do I feel so upside down? Words are hard to come by. I wish there was someone, who I could just transfer my emotion and thoughts and even more importantly my non-thoughts into, and they could tell me which way is up. Its really those non-thoughts that are the problem, cause I could tell you about my emotions if my filters were turned off, and of course I can relay my thoughts (stream of consciousness isn't only for Virginia Woolf). Non-thoughts though, they linger on the fringe of my mind, dipping a toe in and leaving only a trace when I'm at the other side of my consciousness. Perhaps is my id testing the waters for a coup and all I can find are leftover remnants of excitement, or worse maybe its my super ego spying in leaving footprints of anxiety that feel really no different than excitement for now. All I really know is that these non-thoughts are unnerving. How can my mind be so blank yet not? A conclusion seems impossible.

Lost

Sometimes, when I want to write, I can't string two words together. Other times, such as when I can't find a pen, paper, computer, hell my cell phone, the most artful combinations dance around in my head wishing to spill over. And I try so hard to remember, to remember the order, the words, the flow. Sometimes I end up finding the tools, but most of the times the wondrous works slip a away slowly until all I can remember are the first few words. I have to ponder, do all of the greatest works get lost like this? Are we just left with the good works of the greatest word masters? Their true genius just bitter memories of what could have been?

It's 2 PM

My mind is a flutter, fueled by coffee. My thoughts are to fast for these typing fingers. I want to write but it seems as though my mind can’t sort through the multitude of ideas flying around in my head. One thought reads “Raw beauty” the next, “Pictures hardly tell the truth.” So much input, there’s and overload. Why did I drink two double shot lattes?

Tornados

I was never afraid of tornados before. To clarify, I recognized their destructive power and feared them for that like any other sane person but back when I was younger hearing the warning or having the television programming interrupted "for and important weather broadcast" just meant another trip to the basement. Sitting here in my basement by myself, I'm wondering why that lightning crack just made me jump or why I had the urge to call and wake her just to hear her voice.

Then it hit me. I now understand why my Dad was so strict when we would hearing the sirens go off. No physical thing we thought we needed to entertain ourselves whilst in the basement was worth our lives. Love brings with it fear. I wasn't afraid for my life, I was afraid of not being here for her. Even her groggy somewhat joking "Tell the tornado you're mine" signifies that. I'm not really afraid of tornados, I'm afraid of losing her even if I'm not the one who'll have to live with the aftermath.