#424242

i have this distant goal shrouded in some kind of fog barring me from putting any real energy or coherent thought into it of compiling the night terrors i’ve had (and had, and had, and had) into short stories and publishing them. generally the thinking behind this is that when you’re young, you wake up sweating and screaming and desperate for someone to be near to you. you are eaten by a stillness, staring into the darkness of your open closet or you are panicked. this cold-sweat-heavy-breathing song and dance fold into calmly opening your eyes to the familiarity of your room. shooting upright in bed slowly transforms into softly padding along the floor with your bare feet, finding ways to quietly make contact with your own world again before you head back to sleep. cold water, a shower. and i don’t know - i can’t be the only one who would benefit from writing and reading about the babysitter-and-babysat-like relationship i have with my subconscious. i walked away and the kid i’m babysitting was watching wall-e, i walk back into the room and suddenly there’s a psychological horror on the tv. it is what it is, but what i’ve found keeps me the sanest in anything that could possibly provoke an emotional reaction is discussing it. what better way to discuss than to write? what better way to write than honestly? what could you be more honest about than yourself?