I am reminded of some LiveJournal posts that Laura has made. For a long time I believed that life was a story and it just hadn't really started yet. Then it did, and I thought I knew the plot but it got lost somewhere (like it did this time in NaNoWriMo), and now I find myself in a situation that seems stable but where the only value that I can achieve when I'm not treading water (doing things merely to keep things going) is a kind of dull oblivion.
On Friday night at the party here I let myself get pretty trashed. It was interesting because, even though I didn't maintain a positive party vibe, during the times when I was sitting there doing nothing I didn't feel lonely, but rather I became a totally detached observer. Saturday was mostly wasted due to hangover; then it was Mark's birthday dinner at La Fiesta. Today I don't think I did much of anything. Organized a bit, I guess, and set up my stereo.
Charlie managed to ferret out, through a fairly simple series of questions, that my problems of late are due to a lack of the right kind of contact with other people. While I think this is insightful, it's only part of the story—I'm really to blame here, because I'm not open to the right kind of interaction with people.
I've noticed a high occurrence lately of believing something to be the “right thing” to do and still finding difficulty in forcing myself to actually do it. Not sure what this means. I've already lost the mental state I was trying to capture when I began writing this entry. I guess that, since no new state worth capturing has come up, I should stop.
I've also noticed a disturbing lack of ability to maintain a cohesive narrative lately. I keep drifting, and not really drifting anywhere particularly useful or interesting or that ends up being somehow related to where I started.
This may be too extreme to be literally accurate, but lately I've often had a sensation that I can most closely describe as being like I would imagine it would feel to be in a body after the soul has left.