Journal 12 - Freewrite

It’s Friday, November 6’th 2009. It’s the past of the present and it’s also far too late in the evening to be writing a journal but here I sit, and the present is all that’s on my brain, or anyone’s brain at that. I look around my room and I can recall everything, the dust covered jet black moniter, the shine of light reflecting from the hardwood floor. The way I look, the way I think and the way I feel. I can remember thirty seconds ago, ten minutes even. The feel of my shuffling, tired feet up the soft carpet-covered stairs. But the past, last week, last weeks last week, that’s when it starts to slip.

I’ve spent eighteen years, probably a third of my life on this planet and from that eighteen years if I actually sat down and thought about how much I could remember, took all my memories about everything and threw it into a non-stop film, it’d probably be about three or four hours. All the days spent concerned with all of the trivial insignificancies of the past’s present we call “problems” result in the people we are today. Not to say I’m some all wise being of worldly experience, the things I think are problems right now are probably going to be things of laughter down the road, but the recent past has provided me with a strange change in how I feel about the things going on around me and the excess behind them. Tomorrow’s got a strange new appearance and it’s leaving me anxious.