I slept today from 6am to 6:30pm.  More than enough REM sleep for any average person, but I always wake up feeling I haven’t spent enough time in the dream world to recuperate from my days in the living world.  My bed is my castle; I feel safe, warm, secure, right.  Leaving it, I have the physical sensation of being held down by the heavy decisions I’ve been avoiding day after day.

Too often, I feel like time is passing me by faster, ever faster, yet when I write, I find that time slows down and I speed up.  The sensation isn’t immediately noticeable until I look up from my notebook and see Kay still checking out the table who got up to leave when i started writing.  Surely that was almost ten minutes ago, right?

Nothing is so frightening as the idea of lost time.  Of lost memories.  I find myself lost when looking back over my lived years.  There’s so many gaps.  The gaps are particularly frightening because I remember remembering what occurred then.  It’s like my life has been saved in smoke and the room that’s held it keeps getting bigger and bigger until one day, though the memories are still there, I’ll never be able to see them again.  I’m told everyone goes through these sorts of sensation and I’ve no doubt that they do, but it’s still a very singular and isolating idea nonetheless.  My most hated momemnts are when I’m in the middle of something and completely forget what I’m doing.  Sometimes I’ll re-remember several minutes later, but most often I won’t.  Having no context to base these experiences on, I’m not entirely sure what I should do.

Right now, I’m at VI, not because I work here any more, but because these are the only people I’ve made friends with and I don’t see them any other time.  I wonder what I must appear to them.  This sad and lonely girl with no where else to go.  Maybe I should leave.