Bedroom Whispers

Venting

I have exams forthcoming, I have loads of short courses to catch up on, the B.O.C is as hot as ever, that's like tons and tons of pressured reading, and it leaves me limited time for any other thing.

But you see this writing ehn, I must just write. It's how I keep sane. My mind is like a self-generating energy tank. I have to write to free some pressure. Some space. Now, here's the catch. To write, I have to first spend long minutes processing my thoughts, filtering the many images that flash with random flashes of lightning like journalists' flashlights at press briefings.

I have to sift out which needs more focus and attention. I have to then bring it into focus, sit with the images or thoughts and then form stories around them. I sometimes have to relive some experiences to recapture the exact feeling I'm trying to replicate. All this is happening in my head.

When that is done, I then find an outlet to channel whatever has been let loose. My online journal on Wattpad and Keep Notes being the most readily available choices. I'm usually crazed at this point, so I sometimes write with a maddening frenzy, or I get tired and just lazily drag out the words as they unveil themselves.

Sometimes, I feel like I'd have written a 20 paged stuff at a go, and I check and it's just 2 paragraphs. At other times, I get shocked at where the words come from as I don't even find the energy to edit the pages upon pages of things I'd written.

And when I sense that the mental stampede has been reduced to a lazy stroll across the lawn, I then drop my pen, Sometimes feeling high (like MJ on stage) and ready to take on the world, and at other times, exhausted and drawn out and just wanting to sleep for 600 years.

I have lots of things to catch up on, but for now, I need to rest.

The world can wait. Or carry on without me. Whichever one it deems itself fit to do.

600 years for me and my rest.

600 years.

😶