2.30am. The more anxious you are to sleep, the less likely it will come.
Is it possible to contract A.D.D. and dyslexia at this age? Isn't it supposed to be a developmental problem, ie something you have as a child and not when you're in your 30's? Oh my poor brain, you vex me so!
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The thing about journal writing is that it's a point in time capture. So despite the passing of years which possibly (probably) has affected a change of heart or mind, that point remains immortalized. Frozen like a fly in amber. Codified as doctrine.
Looking back and reflecting isn't necessarily wise. How do you know what to believe? What is still true and what has evolved? Which of the bad has turned to good and which of the good has turned to bad? Reconciling the then and the now is both confusing and futile.
A thought struck me that day. I have spent an enormous amount of time, years upon years, thinking about something that should have been in the bag. A done deal. A resolved case. And yet, here I am still expanding tremendous energy ruminating, mulling over, agonizing. What a colossal waste.
This is time I could have spent plotting to take over the world. And I might even have achieved that by now!
Doubt. Fear. Self-delusion.
That reminds me, I need to read Betrand Russell's 'New hopes for a changing world'.
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("Am I sleepy yet?", my A.D.D. brain asks.)
