Sometimes, I call my own name out. I say, “Ray.” I expect myself to answer, maybe. I expect myself to find my proper track of mind. Focus is a foreign concept. I do not know exactly why, sometimes. I just want to get my attention out of the dream out of the days that I lack caffeine or discipline or something. Some small voice in my mind knows and isn’t telling me. I am ignorant. I reach out to sometime in the near past when I knew what I should be doing.
I feel that I need to be doing something productive. If I am to explore another world I will be lost. I’m still not quite finding the right words to shake the intolerance of my lack of self control. Unchecked, it lusts for recognition and a rush of hormones and finds it in shallow pools of effort. Acceptance and appreciation are odd things that I seek. They say nothing about what I think or where I am yet, I seek them. The little satisfaction from doing one thing will be the same as accomplishing something grand.
There is also a strong rebellion against my flippant nature. There is an urge to put out my thoughts immediately. To write something and post it. Just for the sake of posting. Then, I am satisfied and do not look at it again. There is a strategy to hold something close to my chest, just for enough time that my thoughts can calm and another perspective can been seen.
Fighting against this, is my flippancy, again. As I hold one thing to my chest, another thing comes out and makes it’s way past my grasp and gets posted. I drop what I am holding and it gets lost in word files and working titles.