Fluff and muff is one way to distinguish between a good blog and a bad one. I pride myself in the one blog that tops all the rest. The great blog that gets over 100 views. In that moment in time I know I am doing something right in my life. That people, my unknowing fans, want to know what lil ol’ me is up to. Although I am not famous nor on the verge, I still think I’m a pretty worth wild person. Dangling theories and prestigious motivations encompass my thoughts 99.9% of my 24 hour existence per calendar day. The other .1% is spent staring off into the distance because, for some strange reason, it just feels good. Even when I close my eyes and transfer from consciousness to unconsciousness my brain has no idea and think its in working order.
Thrashing and babbling consist most of my nights, as heard from every roommate, family member, and sleepover I have ever had. I can’t stop my dramatic production from its incredible imagination. Waking up to my paisley comfortable twisted mangily around my body and my plush silk pillows ravenously thrown to the ground below. I would of never of done that in my waking moments, so why when my neurological power is taken over and Melatonin, natures mysterious sleep immobilizing chemical, is released that my actions say elsewhere?
Morning after morning I wake up to new stories of my dream-sake sleep conversations I had with my imaginary friends all wound up tight in my mind. Although I remember my REM dreams vividly, the outspoken sentences never coorilate…
I’m not trying to diagnose or even understand this psychological phenomena, I’m only throwing it out there in the abyss of nothingness. In hopes it sparks some memory of sequencing scenes of a theatrical unconscious performance.