Which, believe it or don't, is not where I'm usually headed.
I've been thinking too much lately. Too much, because it's gotten even more in the way of doing than usual. The part where there isn't all that much to do is entirely beside the point. Why? Because people with their own businesses always have something to do. Homemakers always have something do (the part where a home is a business is completely relevant here). Writers really do always have something to do. Artists, scientists, academics, athletes, non-profit organizers, activists and even domesticated critters always have something to do.
So the part where I just can't find the time to do the things that are around me all of the time? That's the part that involves this: the experience of actual experience, no boundaries, no bullshit, just life.
And wouldn't you know it? That's the place the heartbreak starts.
I've had a premonition of deja vu yet to come: an unsolicited daydream of a conversation completely within current parameters that has not yet happened, but that I've already dreamed, years ago.
I've had repeat deja vu before, and it's a helluva wake up call, especially to someone who is so totally convinced of her own internal locus of control. Which does seem a tad wonky in light of the whole "sometimes bits of my dreams come true in totally awesome and easily approached except in conversations ways" thing. I've never really examined that particular paradox.
I pick preparing for the GRE now, thanks.
More predictable.
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