My universe is sno-globe sized and I routinely toss it in the air.
Oh no, no demure jostling of a manufactured plastic thing, nor spastic-I-have-too-much-bottled-inside shaking for me.
I like the duplicitous weightlessness of the globe and the particles inside it.
I like the way my world propels itself, sluicing through muggy, threatening air, all the while the worlds inside it tumbling at their own secretly rythmed paces.
So oftentimes when my shrill cries of "Faster, spin faster" have taken their toll and the nefariously juxtaposed axes of my cleverly layered existences have begun to cut just a little too deeply into my shoulders...
...when the ache and realization that the reason this or that isn't flowing quite so smoothly anymore because the stress has built up again and it's time to stick a syringe in my chest and pierce out some of the air...
I hurl my worlds, willy-nilly, in whichever direction my shoulders loose them in.
And when the snowflakes inside my snowflakes begin to tumble towards me again, all my unresolved philosophies, all my half-hearted conclusions, all the truths which were True At The Moment but somehow don't feel like LifeTime Kernels of Wisdom just now...
Settle themselves in new, confusing patterns, and I pull out my list of keys and try to brute-force a new algorithm for monstrosity.
It's like playing with puzzles, really. S'why I wanted to study math, but really - using my consciousness as one massive crypto-crossword game might just possibly be somewhat more amusing.
Really, I just like to make things complicated for myself. Oh I know, I know that so very well. When I'm frenzied I dream of spun-glass forests, and when I'm too relaxed, the nightmares of carnage and wastelands set in.
So when I'm awake I dream of sleeping, and when I sleep I cannot lie still lest I miss a second of being awake.
Because when I fall to my knees begging for hard-earned sweet serenity , the first exquisite moments as the bathwater closes over my face are so intensely perfect, I know no patient trudge through weeks waiting for that kind of exhaustion could possibly improve upon it.
Yesterday I raced myself, pushing for a crash, stumbled up the dazzlingly familiar fourh flights of stairs wondering how a meeting about data-mapping could possibly have lasted four hours rather than 45 minutes.
Crash bang boum, I earned my sleep last night and in today's well-rested light I am wondering what he meant when he said "I missed you at Foufs last night".
I am secretly wishing it means more than "there was no one to act stoopid and entertain the old men in us."
I am wondering if I should be worried that another "he" called me seven times last night.
I'm not too worried, tho. It seems to have been an isolated incident.
I am wondering about the difference between respect and love and this "in love" stuff people keep on about.
Methinks I am looking for a partner I admire and respect as one would a powerful beast, rather than quirks and humanities in a smile that makes me race to wake up to see it again.
And I am wondering how many of the happily in love friends of mine are happy to be in love and have found someone willing to accept them, rather than happily in love with the most wonderful person they've ever met.
But frankly, sometimes I think and want too much.
We, the jaded children...