Problem to poem.

I have one big problem in my life: my thoughts. Whenever I really want to think about something, the typical thing that happens is that my mind starts focussing on my process of thought rather than on the subject I’m trying to think about. It’s difficult to explain. Instead of thinking “so, the realistic approach in Anselm’s ontological argument means…” I think: “I’m thinking about the realistic approach in Anselm’s ontological argument” and keep thinking things along that line. Just going deeper and deeper, until I’m finally at some end of my regression where I stop and tell myself to think of something completely different. I just end up containing more and more thoughts about my process of thought and its rapidly rising number of layers.

I don’t know how to fix this, if there is a fix. I don’t even know if this is something everybody does when they try to think about things. I tend to think that it isn’t normal. When I’m in social situations and can’t think of anything to say, because my mind goes 100 miles an hour, making all my thoughts flash before my eyes in a blur, I just play it down to me being an introvert. But when I’m alone, just me and my thoughts, that really can’t be the reason. There has to lie something behind. There must be some explanation as to why I have such a hard time focussing on subjects.

When first I do hit the ground running, or talking, thinking, I don’t seem to be distracted by this problem. When my preparation is good, when I know exactly what I’m supposed to do, I can do it as well as anybody. But when I’m in situations I’m not used to, situations I haven’t prepared for, my mind just crawls down the ladder, deeper and deeper, until finally I’ve got nothing to say and nothing to think.

Another problem I’m currently dealing with, is whether or not I really strive for anything. Ever since my post about me finally having goals again, I’ve found it increasingly harder to write. The last years, if anyone asked me what I wanted to do, I have been so sure that I was going to become a writer. But when I’m in creative holes like the one I’m presently in, it seems to me as if it’s all just some big fantasy-wish I’ve dreamt up to at least say I had something I wanted. When I think about it, I really don’t know what I want.

I’ve always had a thought in the back of my head that said, that my optimal job would be someplace where I had to do pretty much the same every day, and wouldn’t have to think too much at the job. Whether this comes down to my insecurity whenever I have any kind of responsibility, I don’t know. It seems a routine job like that would somehow relieve me of the pressure of responsibility, since things would just work automatically. Whenever I came home, I would have time to read books, write little nothings, play some music and do what I’ve been doing my entire life. Maybe I’ve just always been secretly content with my life, whilst thinking that I needed some big change – thus the breaking free, become a writer, live a life with no boundaries, be my own man!

I think, what I need is someone to live with who can make sure I have routines. When I have routines, my days just work better. The cause of my creative hole is probably that this is the exam period – I’m home most days, reading/writing for exams whenever I feel like it. No one forces me to do anything. I don’t have a schedule that tells me to be at this or that place at any given time, and I have a hard time finding out what to do with my time, now that I have all my time on my hands. I wrote about how glad I was that I no longer took to my Playstation whenever I had some spare time. Well, guess what – I’m back at my Playstation. Too much time means too few goals means new goals must be made means Playstation is back in business. Come February I will once again have a weekly schedule to take some time off my hands. Looking forward to that!

Later this week I will be seeing Poliça live. I’m excited about that! I haven’t heard too much of their music, and don’t intend to before the concert. It’s so seldom these days that I get to a concert where I don’t know everything about the band. That’s one of the drawbacks of living on a different island than the one where everything happens. It’s more expensive to get to the concert than the concert itself – so I mostly allow myself to go to concerts I know will be great. But this time I’m making the exception. Rikke has been talking about this band for quite some time, and she didn’t know they were coming to Denmark, so I was quite pleased when I found out they were playing here, just weeks after she came back from California.

We were out having fun last week as well. Spend Wednesday together, before watching Blue Is The Warmest Color in the evening (amazing film), and then sleeping at her place afterwards. I still can’t get over how glad I am to have become her friend. Sometimes the Universe just works in the way you want it to. Admittedly, it doesn’t work exactly like I prayed it would back in the days, but at least it has worked out pretty well for me. I really think she’s my best friend by now. She’s the one I always want to spend time with – surely that’s the measure? She’s just so funny, so sweet. She still gives me dreams, but they’re no longer heart aching ones. I’ve come to terms with reality. I told her in the morning, that I had dreamt of her through the night; that we were a couple, and that that thought – us being a couple, had saved me from a terrifying nightmare. Someone was running around stealing money and throwing grenades at some school I worked at, and I was running away from him, running from my life, when I turned in this little alleyway, right into the arms of Rikke, and everything was just okay. Everything was just as it should be. She laughed a bit when I told her, a surprised laughter. I don’t know, it seemed like she mulled the thought over in her head. She’s a rapid thinker, I’m sure many things can go by in her head in mere seconds. I like to think she thought that, yes, everything would be okay if we were together. But that’s just silly me dreaming about a gay girl.

Det er om morgenen
dig i din t-shirt og korte shorts
mig i mine underbukser
to senge
hovedet mod maven
kunne godt bruge en Tic Tac
ser ikke så godt
men ser dig klart som altid
vintergråt udenfor
med regn på din rude
den du åbnede med din fod
dig på siden kiggende ned
mig på maven med nakken op
hvordan var filmen i går?
har du drømt om hende pigen?
var det dét der lavede de lyde gennem dig?
selv drømte jeg
at vi to var kærester
den tanke kunne kurere en verdenskrig
og selvsagt mit værste mareridt
i dine arme er jeg sikker
i din favn er himlen blå
mod dine læber er jeg hjemme
når jeg dit hjerte kan nå


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