But I could stare at a blue butterfly for hours.
This morning I woke up with a bad case of melancholy. I tried completely zeroing in my focus on the softness of my cat. That regal pussy. But it didn’t really work. To distract me. From whatever the feeling is that keeps me distracted from everything else. And I just think, think, think about this feeling, without being able to place it anywhere except where it’s located. Deep within my gut.
My best friend said that I make her nervous. Then I thought “you make me nervous too” defensively. Then I thought “we make ourselves nervous” I’m always nervous. I’m never nervous. Not anymore really. Just clouded by the shroud of contentment.
5:34 pm. I think I’ve accomplished something, I think I can go to bed now.
It hurts so good. That I’m sad. No happy. No sad. No happy. No sad. No happy. No sad. Know happy. Know sad. Stupid. Know stupid. No, stupid