I want to write this down, mostly for myself, but also because I’ve dreamed for many years to write my own book. I get 20 pages or so into a writing and something changes and I loose my focus on the goal. Last night this beginning came about and I wanted to write it, to remember it.
“Every night, over and over, a thousand ideas stream through my conscious. Ideas of who I am, was, and should be. Why I am, what I wanted and what I was thinking. Over and over, a relentless brigade on my brain. Mistakes, triumphs, where the road with no foreseeable end is going. Over and over. People I love, loved, may love. Over and over pounding and sloshing around in a space that should be reserved for productive thoughts. Every night, until finally like a release the ringing comes. It silences everything. No more images, no more thoughts, just ringing; and my eyes stop darting from one side to other and up and down in a dizzy display of confusion, and I sleep. I sleep to the ringing which is like my security blanket, its sweet release telling me I don’t have to worry any longer about all the unanswered questions.”