Nights At the Library

I will preface this post by saying two things: I should really be working on my essay at this moment, and yes, it's been a long time. It is not coincidental that writing and time and the two themes that keep swirling around in these posts. They are in fact still as freshen in my mind as ever. I feel them in my body too, words flowing as they haven't in years and time fleeting faster that I could ever imagine. 

I started this site talking about changes and here I am again, months later, saying that not much changed when in reality I have not stopped changing. I often think that some of my friends from college would hardly recognize the person I am now.

This is the third night I can’t sleep. At those moments when I would rather be cold dead, or at the least deeply unconscious, I seem to have the need to think about everything. There are far too many people interested and I have little idea of what to do with any of it. Sometimes I act like Brian, because it suits me. I do him well. Sometimes I have doubts, but they are never so strong anymore that I would find myself crying. Have I cried recently? I can’t remember… I seem to have this sick need to push myself forward until I lose everything. But has that happened yet? Not yet. Not ever. 

I am holding to the now, the here, though which all future plunges to the past.