I've been having some weird ones, lately. Last night I dreamed I was in another country packing a minivan with boxes of what I think were books and it got towed because it wasn't parked in the right spot and I didn't notice until it was gone, then a lady offered me an Etch-a-sketch to help me find it and get it back without any cost, even though she spoke no English, but she seemed official enough to do it so I went along with her, wondering if I was setting myself up for something...and that's when I woke up.
I have no idea what dreams mean...or if they even rally mean anything. They might well be momentary mental breakdowns used by your unconscious mind to keep your conscious mind in good working order. Sort of like, "Okay, you go ahead and freak all over the place while I do some maintenance on this section of synapses that have been under a strain, lately. When we're done, you'll know."
Of course, I wouldn't know what sanity is. I don't think I've ever been what one could even begin to call truly sane; just a well-controlled schizophrenic. Which serves me well as a writer but can be hell on me as a person...and on friends and family, sometimes...
I'm getting closer and closer to the edge of cognitive capacities and making myself do things I want to do. Like watch a movie or sketch or work on a book. It's more than avoidance; I think a closer description would be laziness mixed with a cavalier attitude that it can be done tomorrow. Which is silly. I know it is...but it still takes me time to talk myself into doing what needs to be done.
It's not so bad for my day job. The nice thing about packing books is, it's simple...so getting that done is easy and straightforward. It can be physically demanding and exhausting, but once I see what and where I'm working, I can focus and get done.
It's focusing on the creative parts of my life that keeps trying to be impossible. I think it's more than procrastination, but I could be wrong. There is some avoidance mixed in for reasons already discussed. And maybe some weariness that I've gotten nowhere with my work, even though that's not all that important to me.
Or maybe I'm just kidding myself and really am a nut-job...
I have no idea what dreams mean...or if they even rally mean anything. They might well be momentary mental breakdowns used by your unconscious mind to keep your conscious mind in good working order. Sort of like, "Okay, you go ahead and freak all over the place while I do some maintenance on this section of synapses that have been under a strain, lately. When we're done, you'll know."
Of course, I wouldn't know what sanity is. I don't think I've ever been what one could even begin to call truly sane; just a well-controlled schizophrenic. Which serves me well as a writer but can be hell on me as a person...and on friends and family, sometimes...
I'm getting closer and closer to the edge of cognitive capacities and making myself do things I want to do. Like watch a movie or sketch or work on a book. It's more than avoidance; I think a closer description would be laziness mixed with a cavalier attitude that it can be done tomorrow. Which is silly. I know it is...but it still takes me time to talk myself into doing what needs to be done.
It's not so bad for my day job. The nice thing about packing books is, it's simple...so getting that done is easy and straightforward. It can be physically demanding and exhausting, but once I see what and where I'm working, I can focus and get done.
It's focusing on the creative parts of my life that keeps trying to be impossible. I think it's more than procrastination, but I could be wrong. There is some avoidance mixed in for reasons already discussed. And maybe some weariness that I've gotten nowhere with my work, even though that's not all that important to me.
Or maybe I'm just kidding myself and really am a nut-job...
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