not necessarily from the real world - I felt disconnected from me, from her, from the person that writes the stuff I read at times like these - and I say to myself did I write that? Where in hell did it come from?
I loose touch and I feel horrible when I do. Like drifting on some barren space without blood in my veins. Touching but not touching anything. Feeling but not feeling anything. It’s like living on the surface - outside the bubble not in it. The way you would feel if you were an astronaut cut adrift from your ship without communication, out in that black void. Isolated from the core you know is there but something cut it off, cut your connection, and you don’t know what it was or how it happened or why.
The stretches seem longer now. I can keep the juice going longer but I can’t stop it from shutting down from time to time, and I can’t figure out what shuts it down - maybe there is a reason for it, maybe it’s just a natural process, a state of being. I know some of what shuts it down in part, I had to do it deliberately, I wasn’t getting anything done at work. All day writing, writing and wanting to read again and revise what I’d already written. I was obsessive about it. Lost so many hours last week that I’ll have to make it up some how. My concentration was shot, I couldn’t focus on both. As soon as I sat in my chair and felt the chains wrap around my mind, I started to run and run.
10/16/07 [unedited journal]