Overthinking

The more time I spend sat at my computer desk/coffee table hybrid, the more I wonder exactly what it is I’m doing with my life. I spend a lot of time with my own mind, It becomes a task in itself.

So i spend 70% of my week sat in front of the screen, eyes fit to cry blood from strain, back arched and arms heavy, blasting out all kinds of music from Morrissey to Manson. This is my habitat and these are my familiar surroundings. Accumulated plates and glasses making some kind of toned down version of The Emerald City around me, previous nights out strewn across the floor and the eerie static on the TV when it goes to standby, you know, the organised mess of a typical adolescent bedroom. Every hour of the day disappears and becomes filed into how many times the bedroom door opens, or how often my mouth becomes dry. I don’t keep time in a typical way. I have so many time pieces but no concept of where the time escapes to. I lose time, but not in the way you lose loose change in the backseat of a car. I don’t expect to regain it. In fact, i wallow in lost time.

So it becomes apparent I haven’t been outside in three days. This is a regular occurrence. It is not until I breach my boundaries and take a walk that I realise there really is more to life than my pretentious computer.

I feel totally vulnerable yet appear confident in my own skin. I have never felt a better sense of wellbeing than i have when walking down an endless dirt lane in my parka and my beat up plimsoles, sun blazing down on my face, the relentless wind brushing away all efforts attempted with my hair that day. To me, walking nowhere becomes therapy. Being isolated recalls all of the time that appeared to be lost and replenishes it. Over thinking starts again. My mind works like a flow chart, everything I look at or think about spouts off one hundred different outcomes or stories. My mind is always full of something. Never empty. If only I could switch it off. I envy people with nothing on their minds, although most of them have just perfected the art of not caring.

When I overthink, I get scared but I don’t admit this to myself. I simply walk back down the dirt road and return to my habitat, sit in my chesterfield recliner and repeat three days later.

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