Accidental or deliberate incapacitation.

She told me that I live a life full of addictions.  Not Trainspotting or Leaving Vegas kind of way, but more so reading, playing tennis, working for **** (company), eating, loving, being a friend.  Did I mention ‘playing tennis’?  Yeah, after yesterday’s match it is becoming apparent that I’m also becoming addicted to losing.  Despite the fact that I hate the feeling.  And now, being before the dreadful 4 AM I’m awake for 2 hours by that feeling of strong dislike (isn’t ‘hate’ too strong of a word?)  Shouldn’t we use stronger words in our lives?  Do they help to better describe the feeling or their perceived strength distorts the actual feeling?

The infamous ‘puling the pin’ that we use, does it help when we go “off the grid” for time being, which clarifies the realizing that the grid is a Machine, that’s anesthetizes the passage of life by financially and egotistically compensating for the time passed.

Stanislavsky’s quesions: Who am I?  Why am I hear?  What am I for?  (are those the right ones? – this is my question – not his)  Freddy Mercury in his unpublished-in-his-lifetime record my favorite Queen song asked “… what are we here for?”  Answering the question can be easy for some.  Fulfilling it can be a bitch.  Conquer the bitch!  Not reading, checking the stock market or Linkedin, popurls or flipboard, ebay, etsy, amazon, or all the other self-dillusional addictions, but simply conquering the Resistance (a.k.a., Bitch)  It’s still before 4 AM, but I’m feeling good 🙂

Aren’t the ‘solitude’ and ‘silence’ the perfect necessities to create?  Then why are we so afraid of them?  Why is the solitary confinement the harshest?  Is it because we were created in the image of God?  Is it because God is never “in solitude”, but instead He’s devoting Himself to all of us to be better/best versions of ourselves?

Unrelated: I used to have (and I miss it a lot) this reoccurring dream when I’m semi-asleep and I’d be writing really, really, I mean, inhumanely, fast.  Probably about 300 words per minute.  I have no fn clue.  Could be 600 wpm.  This pre-  4 AM  blabber has been a distant relative of that feeling.  It is like seeing The Beatles photograph vs. listening over and over again to Eleanor Rigby.

‘ … writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear …’