epic.

Where do you start. I feel like every time I want to write something, or something is exploding in my brain, I can't decide where to begin. I can't make outlines, they don't work. This idea of writing out everything your going to say before you actually start writing everything your going to say is absurd. Which leaves my brain in a rather bizarre state. I get confused a lot. Forget what I was writing. One minute I'll feel the urgent need to write about how I'm struggling with change. Struggling with myself, and the next I'll have moved on, formulating a thesis and paper in my head, and starting something else before my fingers can catch up. Sometimes, I kinda feel like that's my life. I can't seem to communicate one well thought out idea, to take something I've built in my brain, and write it out on paper. As soon as the words hit the page, screen, wall, pipe, or floor my brain kicks into overdrive, and I'm re-writing, refining, re-wording, redoing. I'm taking a refined idea that I want to explain how I got to to you, and moving above it before, before, well, before anything.

I get confused. My brain works to fast for my brain to keep up with. Apparently I'm epic, but I still seem to be struggling with what I am, how I fit. How can something with no understanding of its place or itself actualize the concept of epic to the degree that others recognize it while it in itself cannot even figure out what motivates itself. My fingers are slow again.

baah. I see too much for my own good. Try to understand too much to make any sense of what I'm seeing. I'm constantly over-loaded, unable to understand how to look for the off button. I'm stuck. How can I do well writing papers when I can't keep one idea long enough to call it mine without moving past it, beyond it. Without correcting it ten times in my head before 3 pages have gone by? Why would I want to talk about or defend an idea that I had an hour ago that I don't entirely agree with anymore?

Stupid brain. Understated, over-emphasized, entirely and absurdly iterated.

My hope of ever coming to understand even the most basic idea of myself is becoming vastly out-dated and old fashioned. Would it be wiser to cast off these burdens and chains that I put upon myself, to entirely discard what limitations I have put on this unknown entity in fear of what I am which I do not know?

My brain frustrates my fingers. My fingers think its stupid. Thinking too fast to comprehensively explain what it thought. But then I often find all sorts of parts of me frustrated with the rest. Mutinous if you will, against the reality a united body that does not exist. I think my fingers would prefer a brain that thought with consideration to the rest of me. Instead I am stuck, indefinitely as feared, with a self that can't seem to operate observably comprehensive.

but somehow, through all this muk that makes up my head and body, knees and toes, I manage to be epic. I make no sense of myself, and I actively rebel against the reality that I have become. I should not be epic, I can't even hold a train of thought longer than my drugs force me to. How on earth can I be of such magnitude, of such influence that someone might consider, dare even to dream of considering me epic.

My brain disagrees wholeheartedly, but my fingers have decided to stop trying to keep up. I'm badly bizarre and awkward. It's surprising at all that I can even begin to complain.