All three of you readers sure have been visiting this site a lot lately.
It puts pressure on me to create something new.
Getting the notification on my phone that visitor #3507 from Portland, Oregon is back on this shitty website, over and over again, is exciting and burdening.
I do appreciate it.
It is kind of cool to think there are people out there that are hungry to read more.
That is neat, don’t get me wrong.
But boy, it makes me want to go into the kitchen and keep feeding you.
It applies pressure.
I know you don’t mean to!
I know you’re just hungry!
I know that you, dear reader, have good intentions here.
You want to consume more of me.
Oh my…
You are the one that wants to eat me!
You want to eat my mind!
A faceless consumer of my soul.
That’s what you are.
You’re a number and a location to me.
And I am a snack to you.
I once thought that I figured out a face that belonged with the number.
I thought She was reading.
But nope, that was not her.
It was a different face.
I assumed wrong.
And when I found out who it really was, it stung.
Like a solid body shot.
It’s 1:50 AM right now.
I slept for two hours.
This keeps happening.
My sleep, my diet, my exercise, my physique – it’s all off.
The only thing that’s been firing lately is the mind.
This writing thing and dialogues with real faces,
that’s been working a lot, but everything else is out to lunch.
Tomorrow morning I’ll go on a jog for the first time in eight weeks.
I’ll eat clean.
Tomorrow.
It’s always tomorrow.
The words of little orphan Annie echo behind the eyes.
It’s always tomorrow.
Only a day away.
Now it’s 2:00 AM, and I realize that I’ve been in tomorrow for two hours now.
I am in tomorrow, making you guys a snack.
Here you go.
I’m not sure why you want to snack on my restless mind anyway.
But oh well, best not to overthink it.
Eat up.
Nom, nom, nom.
-C.H.