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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


11.04.14

I am overwhelmed.

I say that all the time.

It's a way of removing myself from the act of articulation, from the act of resurrecting the feelings and experiences that brought the snow tumbling down off the mountain, over me.

When I am overwhelmed, I sit there and think for ages, inert. I start to think about my bed, and its quilt, which I can pull over my head, concealing me like snow. It will be dark, that world, warm with my breath. A manageable world.

To counteract the desire to say I am overwhelmed, I get up and start moving. Go for a walk. Make a nice meal. Say hi to someone. Read a book about people and places elsewhere in the world. Come out of the solipsism of my thoughts, the hypnotic power of inertia. I have to do it everyday, and most days it is easy, and other days, it is goddamn hard.




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