CIRCA 11.2010
I’ve been wanting to write something for a while now but I haven’t felt like writing at all for a long time. There was nothing I wanted to write - there were no words. Or sometimes I’d think there are words but as soon as I got around to trying to write something, I’d lose it. This spells death for a writer.
The last few weeks have been quite special. I cannot describe what it is that I felt, but they were quite extraordinary. I didn’t speak much, and then for a week I slept close to maybe fifteen hours in a day. In the week following that week of drugged and unrestful sleep (last week), I couldn’t even get to sleep. I slept probably like 2 or 3 hours a night. Usually between the hours of 8am to 10am, something like that.
So what it was, was a week of not thinking about many things and then suddenly thinking about many things because my brain went into overdrive and I started thinking of a lot of things and I couldn’t even get sleep when I wanted to. Most nights I lay in bed and then realise eventually that the sun had risen and sometimes decide to just stay awake to seize the day.
And it was a very strange period of contemplativeness. I thought about things regarding myself, the people I know, altruism, whether I would be significantly different in any way if I never knew any of the people I know now, whether anybody I knew was actually worth knowing, whether any knowledge I have is worth having, if there’s a person in the world I couldn’t live without
I used to get excited over a lot of things but I think life killed my joy.
