"Consciousness is a form of logic."
sometimes it happens by itself. i have to simply open my eyes, stand on my feet, and it's all there, wayne's world. alas, it often slips away as my thinking (reason) kicks in. suddenly i despair of ever getting through the day. effort, putting on my socks, shaving, fixing breakfast, it all becomes a matter of WILL and i soon use that up.
i don't always have a strategy to move on, especially if i don't have a plan. addictively, i can swallow a couple of tylenol. this my cheap way of escaping depression, despite the fact i don't know what it's doing to my liver. traveling, i discovered i recover upon taking a hot shower. maybe it's the pure pleasure of the warm water like a newly born immediately put in a basin and bathed.
yes, i still take prozac and usually that takes the edge off, even if i've lowered the dose. and if i can get through to noon something else kicks in. consciousness has done its work and reassembled enough of the universe for me to feel safe. think about it: at night i give up reason. that's the main thing i have to do for the mind to reboot twice.
and evidently my brain more active in slumber than in what i call waking. during the night everything is thrown up in the air: elephants, dragons, ladies-in-waiting. golf-carts transform in to spaceships and other freudian symbols. i've heard of lucid dreaming, where the sleeper can keep a measure of control. unfortunately, i've never reached this divine state.
one must be a god, i suppose, who never needs rest in order to keep everything in position, probably that's the power they have as gods. i have to let go, then in the morning put the table and chairs back together, i have to take everything i don't recognize and say to myself, 'this is the room where i live.' otherwise i fall into a form of stage fright.
an actor, suffering this condition, has to draw a small circle around herself and look carefully in it: her dirty fingernails, the split hair lying in her lap, the cracked glass from which she is supposed to drink. once she's grasped this tiny universe, she can gradually expand her vision, thus taking over the many floating impressions hitting her eyes.
hard for me to believe but four billion bits of information hit my eyeballs every second . i'm capable of perceiving forty at most. a person suffering schizophrenia can't do even this, overwhelmed by the treasure flooding the brain. there's no way out of it. i have to constantly form the life in which i can live. it's very tiring. sometimes i'd rather just jump off a bridge. and sometimes i survive by watching an ant in the dust.
