Uninspired

Today I’m not feeling inspired. I’m still going to write something however.

How shall I start?

I’m eating junk food - I’m eating too much. I put it away. Less temptations.

No, that’s not a good start.

I'm beginning to get sick of my own writing and I should read fiction again.

Let me start again.

I cannot force myself to write. 

Ok let me write what's going on my mind at the moment.


I am scared that now I am baring my soul to strangers and that I will regret it. I am scared that in a few months, weeks, days or possibly hours I will read the blogs and go red in the face. Including this sentence.

It’s not a comfortable feeling.

But I hate hiding behind a mask. It makes me itch all over. I rub my nose. It really makes me itch and the word itch makes me itch even more. Oh no, now I’m really itching all over.

There is also some liberating feeling after expressing some thoughts however. It’s like a layer of dust has been wiped off of me. There are still more layers, but with each wipe, I’m ‘clearer’. It’s like the thoughts which occur to me are no longer mine once I express them. I’m free from them. They cease to exist to me.  

I also wonder sometimes what goes through my – and everyone else’s – mind. It’s like sometimes I think of something, but then there are more layers. There is voice number one, voice number two, voice number three… It’s like when you put a mirror in front of another and put an object in the middle of them. There is an infinite replica of the same object. Maybe our thoughts are like that. Maybe we’re thinking a lot at the same time but we are not aware of all of them (and maybe I had to study this but I forgot). Point is, it feels that I am powerless and ignorant to something I own. It's nearly embarrassing.

Then sometimes I think our brains are a maze. Maybe some brains more than others. For example, I feel that my thought process doesn’t go from A to Z. It goes haywire. It can get confusing even to me or I’m simply absent-minded and I forget that I forget. Or something which is obvious to some, is oblivious to me and I wonder what’s wrong with me. Then again, there is only a small difference between obvious and oblivious – the extra ‘li’ in oblivious so maybe there isn’t such a big difference between these two words after all.  

So yes, that kind of maze I’m talking about.

Anyway, the thing why I want to write is so that I become clear to myself and also so that I won't itch all over. I just hope I won’t have to become a reclusive when it dawns upon me how much I’m revealing - it's revolting.