(no subject)

Do you ever sit down to a keyboard and type out a sentence, a paragraph, and entire line of thought without looking at the keyboard, maybe staring out the window or reading the economics handout above the desk or just thinking, with your eyes closed, about something else entirely? Then you return your attention to the page, and find you've just finished writing a line of gibberish because your fingers were all on the wrong keys, and you can't even remember what it intended to say.

That's a bit how my life feels at this point.

I want, at times, a best friend. It's the most wonderful relationship in the world, two people who mentally vibrate together like a tuning fork, a plucked string, and there's no reason for it at all. Quickly reversed bursts of anger, an absence of fear, and the amusement bubbles on top. The trouble is my holding such a thing sacred, which I suppose I haven't yet outgrown, despite hopes to the contrary. I put too much stock in it.

I can't tell whether I'm cynical or not at all. Self-consciously naiive?

Stare at a bright sky and be distracted by the dark swirls of eye damage, deteriorating vision, ephemeral and impure beauty, because the world is a cult of beauty, et cetera, and free writing belongs in a paper journal.