Here is my place to write stuff:
Right now I am dealing with a lot of anxiety as we all are, every day. And this makes me feel/ask the following questions:
Does reality exist?
Are we real?
Am I a real person?
Do my wants and needs seem strange and unlikely to other people?
If I am a real person and my wants and needs are deemed strange and unlikely does this make me a strange and unlikely person?
(Unlikely in the sense: I just found a diamond in the dustbin)
Or am I just me myself and I?
I’m not sure of those answers.
What I do know is that I have never been quite normal. I’m sure many of my future theoretical readers can relate to that idea.
I have always been a person who would, for example, would have hysterics at the series finale when the main character never returned home. (Thanks a fucking lot Quantum Leap, Bellasarious Productions). This happened when I was in my teens and I still mourn for Samuel Beckett. The sciencist not the the playwright. Played by Scott Bakula. With Dean Stockwell.
I have what you would call a sensitive nature. I feel a great and overwhelming grief we all experience just for being alive.
My feelings are like a bird’s pin feathers. Close to the surface and easy to bruise.
So if you want to read more about my life and struggles I will post more.