You see my brain fills me with stupid, really bad fantasy universes that won't go away no matter how much I try to busy myself in anything else. Whether it's something I want to do or not want to do, these half-formed characters and stories are in my mind all the time. Reading, talking, working, all the time except when I sleep. It's not merely when I'm bored or distracted, but all the time, like even now, when I'm writing this post, I think of a world where superheroes are created for the sole purpose of saving the world, or a world where a giant pattern of energy covers the Earth in a giant web, changing the planet and the people on it forever. But if I try to make even one move to even approximate those inner worlds, even in a private, hand-written journal that no one will ever see or read, nothing comes out. That's the story of my life. Usually, one subsides and is replaced by another, and they all take turns playing out their narratives, but they're an everpresent company to me.
Now it's gotten to the point where the all want to clash at the same time, competing for my attention, and I simply can't concentrate on anything. Now, different stories with different rules all come together and tell me their fractured narrative. And I'm starting to vocalize to them to get out and leave me alone. No, I don't want to think about the stories any more, if they're not going to leave my brain. I don't want to forget them, of course, but they won't come out into a tangible form, something I can share, even if only in theory.
But people say, "Why complain? Why can't you just spend the time whining and just work on those thoughts?" Because "whining" is about the only thing I literally can do, and despite what some of you may think, the complaints don't come easy. These words are almost as hard to put together as the narratives themselves.
The worst part of it is that anyone else in my position would have picked up the ball and run away with it by now. Most people do more with less. I can do nothing with what I have. Not to make light of the fact that I have full command of my senses and general bodily functions, but really, why should that be enough? What good is health if it isn't accompanied by accomplishment? What worth is comfort is isn't flanked by legacy and lessons imparted? What good is life if it doesn't reproduce and evolve?
Please, mind, no more worlds. Just give me something that can travel through the portal of imagination to recorded dream instead of being trapped in the vortex of my mind.