Vaguely personal, yet vague

When I write blog entries, I try to be clear.  I tell stories.  When I write in my journal, or for myself, I write faster, closer to the speed my mind works.  Ideas and feelings zoom around inside my head, or they're just there.  When an idea occurs to me, ideas and associations well up quickly and blend together, which is why I sometimes make off-the-wall comparisons or strange statements.  Like this journal entry from when I was 18: "My toes fit together like Little Caesar's breadsticks."  It's ridiculous, but it still makes perfect sense to me--and now that journal entry is an idea itself, so every time I drive past a Little Caesar's, I think of my toes, and the cover of that journal--it was a pale watercolor of flowers on a desk, and I found the book in my luggage when I left for my summer at Interlochen, just before going to college.  My mom had stashed it in my suitcase.

All that is stuff I would cut from a normal blog entry (or at least create separate paragraphs).  It turned out to be a perfect example of what I was trying to explain.  My personal writing is stream-of-consciousness, more William Faulker and less Mark Twain.  I just want to get as many of the thoughts down as I can before something else grabs my attention and the thoughts get crowded out by new ones.

I was cleaning up my desktop this morning and I found this doc from back in August that I'd probably meant to incorporate in my journal at some point.  I'd been catching up with a friend, and sent him this message, and then found myself staring at the keyboard...just staring.  I mean, I was STARING at the silver, reflective button on my laptop, while strange, ugly thoughts went through my head.  The next two paragraphs came out of it.  It might not make any sense at all, but it's what I wrote down in my "talking to myself" voice.

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Message to Mike: 

I have actually found myself fantasizing about going back in time...not just me, but like, everyone just waking up tomorrow and it will be a year ago. I would change one thing, and that thing would change everything. I really would. I don't need to go back to college and redo my life; I'll accept all of the stupid shit I did up to the age of 35, but I want to do this last year over. If there were any kind of god, he would let me go back. So fuck your god, lady, and quit trying to friend me when all of your activities are 'putting the christ in christmas' or 'evolution is a theory cause rick perry says so.'

Sitting here thinking about the whole past year, how it was so packed and busy and just fucking intense.  It was intense.  Everything felt so real, and I was so worried about money and the future, and suddenly everything went to hell all at once, and six months just…like, every day went by at normal speed, but the whole thing now looks like a video that I know was shot in normal speed, but from a distance it’s just a blur of events and feelings and so much stuff going on. 

So I just saw the ceiling fan reflected in the mirror-silver “click” button on my laptop…the long part of the button shows the blades of the ceiling fan turning at normal speed, but the blades are elongated and it looks like they’re turning really fast.  The end of the button where it’s a convex curve, the blades are short, and they spin slowly, so it looks like three-quarters of the fan is spinning faster than the last quarter of it.  Just a really weird optical illusion.  And that’s what this summer is—the leftover three months where time is just dragging by, while the rest of the year seems to spin by three times in the space of that one quarter.