and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

I sometimes think my problem might be that I'm too aware. None of this living in the moment crap cause I'm thinking way too much about it. Like I can see myself from the outside and I'm just playing a choose your own adventure. I'm looking at the options as if it's not me that will be suffering the consequences but it's like a game so I need to win - need to make the best choices - need to be logical and smart this one out. Points. Need points.

The problem with that is our hero rarely ends up going down the interesting path. If it's between a) jump down the dark hole and follow the man in the spacesuit or b) return to your ship for supplies, well, it's friendly and smart choice (b) all the time.

This is fine when it comes to certain aspects of life, like how you're going to pay the next phone bill. When confronted with such financial responsibilities the option "jump down a dark hole", while appealing, is rarely effective. Work, pay your rent, take care of yourself, get lots of sleep, eat your vegetables. These things aren't what's interesting but it certainly gets you to the next day.

I suppose there is an argument in there somewhere for moderation. Moderation in all things logical and illogical. Moderation in the amount of fun, craziness, and even sanity because every person - even me - can only handle so much sanity. I guess the problem is the moderation part. I can't grasp a handle on it in the same way that I can't grasp a handle on the next day - planning planning planning but not really knowing what's coming. Basically crazy on both ends of the spectrum.

Too much too little never enough but always a little more than you'd hoped for and meanwhile, always thinking thinking too much, way too much, thinking that thinking about it will think it right away. Over-analysis. As if life can be thunk into perfection, as if nonsense can be made clear as glass if only enough smarts are applied.

When finally it all sinks in and the answers appear exactly where they really are - far away and in no way obtainable unless you just live it, figure it out as you go - this is when shit really kicks in and, fuck it, let's live a little, drink a little, swim a little, soar into the oblivion because it's all become oh so obviously out there that the only way to even think about it anymore is to not think about it so straight anymore. Look askance, apply oblique obtusity until everything is crooked and fainting and then, almost, things come clearly into focus. As clear as mud.

And so it is I swim through the thick fog of summery humidexity, squinting through the fog hoping for a glimpse of something real, someone obvious, somehow perfect beauty right there in front of me having been missed by all the others, completely passed by, waiting as if a wet dewy flower sweating in the morning sunlight, waiting as a sucide man waits precariously perched upon the ledge of life, waiting as we all do on the precipice right before we tug on the straps and bound into the unknown. Waiting, ultimately, for someone to come along and maybe, just maybe, tell us it's alright.