I wanted you to stay on the other side

It's one of those mornings, where I can't wait until five. I can't wait to sleep until my body just wakes up on it's own. There has been a series of dreams that have haunted me over the past few months. I had another one last night; however, by the time I wake, it has escaped me.

The act of explaining the details of a dream is damaging to the dream experience. As with any retelling, the storyteller must reduce the episode he experience to the a few sentences: leaving out details, forgetting small parts, or by using the completely wrong verbiage all together. All of these would distort the listeners perception of what actually happened in the dreams, but not only that, even myself would be left with broken perception--bound in the words just used to portray something that seems explainable.


And so on to my random ramblings of the day.

It drives me absolutely crazy that we file the newest files in the front of the folder, rather than the back. I hate it so much, that I develop very harsh emotions for the people who've requested it as so; Harsh emotions equals hate.


I think about him. I could sit and tell stories of what my emotions feel like right now, but it's as if I have no words to describe what was going on. It's all so clear, but so cloudy. I feel like I'm waiting for a more definitive time to really get it out. Could I be hoarding these emotions? Stuffing? I'm not really one to keep myself balled up on the inside, but I often wonder if my over zealousness towards expressing my inner self is actually at times more hindering than not. As if I'm kept in a cocoon of my own energy while the raging waters tare at the ground around me.

I'm glad the Holidays are here in a way. Since nameless; died, I knew that this was going to be a rough season, and as the end draws near I brace myself for even colder winds. I'm more anxious than scared, but aren't they just one in the same?

Everyone is at lunch right now, so I decided that I would take the time alone to spit out these words.

I'm more comfortable in this job than I really thought I would be.

I think it's really cool that Spotify has these embedding options. It's really easy to share stories this way. It keeps this space much more interactive than online blogging had ever been. I've been writing online for a long time. I think that's really how I began to type fast. It wasn't because I had typing classes; it was because I typed a lot while blogging. Back then--whenever I was in high school--I had a group of friends who actually read the words that I wrote down. As of now, I only know of a few people who actually read, and that's OK. It leaves me with the freedom in know that even if I did spit out every dirty detail of my life on here, not that many people read. Its the luxury of knowing that I keep myself open by keeping This Intangible Existence running.

I think that I'm often too laiden with my own Narcisism, but would a place like this be fit for something just like that.

This place is fit for whatever is fathomable on the internet.