too much and not enough

August 23, 2025

oh hey, i haven't written here in a bit.

sometimes, i swear that my awareness of the fact that one's pre-frontal cortex is still developing through one's twenties makes me feel like my brain is being switched out and rebooted every day. you know the theory of determinism, where one's past circumstances and lived experiences determines the trajectory of one's life? it feels as if my unique collection of memories and scars were being copied onto identical devices, and then one of those newer devices replaced me for the day. it's me, but it's not really me...

this image might have been from a book i once read or A Wrinkle in Time or whatever but yesterday i imagined that in a hyperspace expanse somewhere, i'm linking arms with every version of me through time, like frames on a roll of film, each one just every so slightly different in order to induce movement and change. i look to one side, and i can't see her, but i was once a fetus and before that, barely anything at all. i look to the other side, and i just keep going and going until oblivion, fading into the ether. there is darkness all around and an understanding that time is time. i am time in the same way that music is time. time is river and i am river.

sometimes i am still troubled and haunted by yesterday's versions of me that haven't fully faded from memory. then i zoom out and suddenly i'm in awe that i'm alive and conscious and then nothing really matters. the stories i tell myself are overwritten and semi-discarded, just to be ungratefully recalled and overwritten once more. who knew that faceless people in memories can leave such a bitter taste in my dreams? i remember less of a face and more of a touch. there is nothing real in my mind. i hate that the feelings of faceless people sometimes become my own, until it's indistinguishable, me and (you)(her)(him)(them) -- and eventually we separate like substances of two densities, and then it becomes clear that the desperation i'd been feeling was never my own desperation in the first place. too much feeling and too much everything.