Ever have one of those nights...

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Sleep has been odd.  My body is needy for it.  Not getting sleep when it wants or need, then demanding too much.  Alarm clocks and force of will have been useless.  As a child trying to get into a well locked cabinet, I feel shut out.  The sun has been gone.  I had pushed last week.  I went off meds for a bit, but am back on them.  Doesn't matter.  I think weather is the bigger factor, mind you.  The others just added a bit of weight to the notion.  The foot on my chest went from a size sixteen to a size eighteen, if I were to give it scale.  Still, big or bigger, I struggle anyway.  Makes little difference to me, even if it is seemingly worthless effort.  If it doesn't kill me, and whatnot.  Even if it does?  Hard to displease some people in some ways.  *grin*  That's what made me such a bastard to try to bully.  Enough yet?  Hardly!

But, in these times, my mind... remembers, sees, connects dots, does calculations, looks for in's and out's, up's and down's.  I don't know if it simply trying to find a way through, or freespinning while nothing else is going on, a bit of both, and maybe more.  It is amazing what the output can be.  I am not consciously involved with the mechanisms involved.  It's more like walking into a movie theater without even knowing what the three or four or ten, however long it lasts which is also not know, is slated to be.  Nauseating, sometimes.  Claustrophobic, too, for the inability to do much about anything, psychically.  Unless, as I have, you learn to just wait it out and... enjoy, employ, use, what you can from what is presented.  Learning to just handle it took many years, a decade and change.  That was part of why suicide was an option, if "medicine" played a strong role too.  I don't know if medicine directly effected the thing, or if it simply prevented me from rising to the occasion.  Now it is just part of the gig and I have learned to relax, if still looking for a way back to normalcy.

Writing.  Not blogging, but actual story writing was one of the topics that raced through the mind... last night?  Yesterday?  The fog is so thick I can't be sure.  Just, roughly in those time neighborhoods.  I don't think it happens all at once, considerations.  It is more like dreams, of the past... memories... connected with thoughts then and now.  Comparing notes, considering, then putting it all on an even deeper back burner to cook while other notions are crowded in.  Like a movie with two sequels, or three, or however many it takes, being squeezed into my "time in the theater".  It goes on until either some conclusions are reached or the fever breaks and I am allowed back to the land of the living.  But writing was one of those topics.

I have eschewed writing.  Beside my obvious problems with concentration, heretofore, there was the fear of coming up dry...  Tomorrow, three books from now, ten books in, or at a point of need or in the end.  Not an easy fear to counter, since every writer has known this boogeyman.  But, mostly, it was the realization that writing an in-depth story, a book long, would require tracking people in real time, events, and keeping those current while furthering the story line.  Making the story coherent throughout is no small task.  Many of us have read long books, in a day, a few days, a week... and thought nothing about all that goes into making that story worth even continuing.  Or the time the author spent writing, rewriting, editing, fixing, changing, pulling his hair out maybe, just trying to... make it right... in or for his mind.  At least the good writers.  Though I suppose some are a natural at it, and don't face as many issues as... some of us.

I don't know.  As my health improves, since I am pretty sure college just won't ever be in, or worth the effort as I would never be hired... just because of age and inexperience combined into too much of a risk...  Writing... might be something.  Some think of writing as an economic source.  I am no such fool.  Sure, there could be that.  But, if I played the lottery, I could win it too.  It... won't happen.  No, if I write, it will have to be for my own satisfaction.  Perhaps the satisfaction of a few readers, if that would be secondary.  It's how I roll.  Further, with the right equipment, it wouldn't have to interfere with the rest of my "life".  Bahahaha!  Never mind.  But, I mean, I could take a device out, while hiking, and write when I need a longer break.  Or when I am encamped for a bit, too tired too do much else, I could pull out the device and write.  Editing?  Dunno.  Never really done it, don't do it too much on my blog.  How much of that is automated these days?  I don't think they have grammar down, and some of that would be too formal anyway.  Then again, how fancy do I need it?

I may look back at the story I started, and see about getting through it, though closer to the vest until I can edit perhaps, and put things together in some form of coherent chapters, and order, of some sort or other.  That was almost completely raw.  Just me, sitting down, and writing.  Sometimes I would hold them a day or two, to review spelling and grammar, but little thought editing occurred.  Dunno.  Just some thoughts that came out of my most recent fever.  Well, along with gloom, pain, and odd things.  Hmm...  write about that?  Nah.  People can't even handle my blog.  They couldn't deal with my blog unplugged... or would that be plugged in?  Yeah, no.

Later.