So when I said I had given up my interior-osity, did anyone catch how I then wandered off into a full paragraph of fantasies about things I’ve never done? Yeah, I just got that. I am so mired in my own though process that it’s frightening. Yesterday I spent my shower thinking about how maybe I will go camping in Big Sur and maybe I will climb up a rock wall and when I get to the top there will be a mountain lion twenty feet away from me, chowing down on a dead deer. I spent a lot of time trying to get the exact wording of how I would tell this story to my parents after it happened.
What’s frightening really is not that I disappear into these fantasies all the time, but that I am so unaware that it’s happening. And that I forget about it immediately afterwards. Maybe this is normal? Or maybe I was just born without some signal flag in my head which waves for the rest of you when you’re trying to decide what kind of small talk you would make with the neighbors if you were actually someone from the Czech Republic house-swapping for the summer. The thing is, they’re not always interesting fantasies. Often it’s just stuff like what if I wandered into the Comp Lit lounge while crazy Professor Verducci was holding her discussion session and she snapped at me as she is prone to do and what cutting remark might I make which wouldn’t get me fired.
I know this happens to everyone. But does it happen all the time? Anytime I’m not actively involved in speaking or playing Save Doctor Lucky or separating egg whites or something which requires my full attention, chances are I’m wandering around in this little head world I have. Leading one to imagine a world of little heads.
I suspect this is the main reason why I can’t write fiction for shit. I always try to write about actual physical events, and there’s no truth in them because, to be honest, I probably only experience 30%-40% of the events I’m involved in and the rest of my attention goes to trying to figure out the significance of this event and where it will lead to and before you know it I am off imagining all those possibilities and have forgotten to look around. This means I can’t draw anything accurately because I don’t notice what things look like — I couldn’t describe any of your faces, probably even if you were standing in front of me — and I can’t find my way around town, any town. And I can’t write about characters who pay attention to things because I have no idea what they might be seeing.
All right, so: next entry will be about something real. Over the past week I went to my first baseball game, and (on a different day) took off my top in front of my friends and a number of naked old men. I will try to have an equally interesting week in the upcoming, and this time I will actually write about it.
Devil bunny wants a ham. Devil bunny wants a ham. Devil bunny wants a ham.