Nevermore!

(my journal entry dated July 1, 2012, a Sunday)

It took me hours before I finally set pen to paper here. I don’t know why I have this obsession that I should have something “worthwhile” to say (or write) here. Yet, here I am, writing anyway.

I’m guessing that’s the reason why ideas tend to get away from me. I’m such a perfectionist, with a lack of drive to pursue to completion the ideas given to me. The sad part about it is that I tend to take things for granted that I often fail to commit those ideas to memory for later retrieval.

Like last night, there was this idea that came to me which I had thought about writing here. But this morning when I woke up, I’ve forgotten what the idea was about, and yep, that’s the main reason why I was not in a hurry to write here. Geez! I should have written it down in that little notebook I keep around me, but no! I just had to trust that I’d remember the idea anyway and get to write it here. Well, serves me right. Now, the idea has gone away, blown off by the wind, now winging on to the open fields of someone else’s waiting mind.

What I find very disturbing about this is that…well, it’s disturbing. An idea that’s gotten away should leave your mind “empty” of it, right? Yet, it just bothers me. It’s like you made reservations for people to attend a party, and they don’t make it, and their absence is just disturbing, to say the least.

It’s the same thing with ideas that get away, I guess. Since they got away—meaning, they’re no longer in your head—that should drive them “out of your mind,” right? But no! They’re still there—whatever they are.  Oh, brain, how I love you and I hate you at the same time!

But then, perhaps, ideas never really get away. They’re still in your head, lost in some labyrinthian trap, still trying to make their way to that area where the senses can make them out into a more recognizable form. Or maybe indeed they are out there, up in the air, up in the heavens, and between us and them, all there is is a tie that is just the inkling of their temporary occupation in our heads.

It’s funny that they’re just like birds that way. They perch awhile on a tree branch that is our brain, and when they fly away, they leave behind bird droppings that serve as their remembrance of having perched there, of having existed in our heads.

But no, dear little birds. You shall not get the better of me. I won’t give up half my kingdom for you. I have plenty of other things to think about. Your distraction is but a trivial nuisance to me. I’ll be good natured about this. Au revoir, little ones! Safe journey then. [Bitter.]