Seven Years Later

By Joshua Blake

3:48 a.m. March 16, 2021

I’ve had this blog for seven years, yet it feels more like twice that amount of time has passed. Now at 27, I realize that my 20’s have been filled with way more ups than downs.

My very first post on this website questioned whether looking back on your life was a problem due to thinking about it too often – thinking too much, in general, was what I was trying to get at. And reading it over now, I realize that I had no scope centered on the issue of thinking too far into futures that don’t exist.

But, if I could go back? Would I tell myself anything about my current life – y’know, anything other than a pandemic that ravaged the world?

I probably would pass up the opportunity. I mean, if we’re going to be technical about it, if I went back in time to talk with my 20-year-old self about my life today, that version of me wouldn’t live the life I do today. That’s because time travel isn’t linear. If you were to tell someone of the past about future events, an alternate timeline is created.

And even if everything were to happen the same way, I’d feel like I ruined my younger self’s surprise. I went on to finish college, write and research really interesting stories – I found the love of my life and traveled to their home country and met some amazing people throughout that experience.

People often say things happen when we least expect them to. But, the older I get, the less this makes sense to me. How can you expect something to happen to you if you have no idea of when it will happen?

I guess the reason I’m bringing this up is because I have a lot of dumb things I worry about – and not abstract things, either. These worries have to do with what a sustainable life should be like for me, and how I achieve that. A lot of my worry stems from my dumb fear of not being “good enough.” Whatever that means.

Most, if not everyone, deals with these kinds of fears – they’re normal. So, why do they feel so personal? Maybe it’s because everyone’s idea of “a sustainable life for me and how I achieve that,” is different just enough to where we feel like it’s a road traveled alone. Maybe it’s the Americanization of idealism – in that we must figure things out for ourselves as individuals and not as a group, in order to have the lives we want. I really do believe living in the United States makes it difficult to break away from that type of thinking. But that doesn’t really make sense, either, because life is meant to be ever-changing, and everyone, everywhere is affected by it.

Seven years later, and here I am, wondering if I’m all the more wiser than a depressed 20-year-old kid who was so worried about his future. Well, kid, if you had any idea…you know I’d still be there. Who couldn’t? Everyone always is, even if they don’t know it yet.

The Constant Theme


By Joshua Blake

Life’s weird. Lately I’ve been reminiscing on mine by looking back on all of the notebooks and journals I’ve written in. Like any song you listen to, a story unfolds and a narrative appears. I believe the same to be true about life.

So, what about mine?

I started by going back to where it all began for me: writing poetry in an old notebook from when I was in high-school. I was 16 or 17 at the time, and I initially thought that this poetry thing wouldn’t last long. Two-hundred-to-four-hundred poems and a decade later, here I am.

I’ve kept all of the 7-10 books I’ve written in as a way to remind myself of where I once was, and in some ways, where I still am today. If I could condense everything I’ve written down for the chorus in a song, it’d have to be something uplifting, with a touch of doubt. Maybe something like “I always knew I’d be able to get by, but it wouldn’t happen until I passed through time.”

The current journal I’m writing in has been through a longer lifespan than any other I’ve had – about four-and-a-half years. But the last poem I’ve written in my current book from January 31, 2019, really sets the tone of what my writing is all about: Fear of my past and of my future.

“I don’t know where to look,

Or where I should go.

But I’m always pulling you in tow,

Like an arrow fired from a bow.”

[Excerpt from “Now What?”]

The very first poem I wrote called “False Assumptions,” lives somewhere, but the page I wrote it on in my original book of poems has been lost to time. I put it in a word document years ago on an old laptop, but the point is that title is, to this day, something I think of whenever my anxiety or depression flares.

However bad a situation seems, it never turns out how I think it does in my head.

Moving forward, I’m going to break down the last decade of my writings, in an attempt to see how far I’ve come, what I’ve learned, and what I can learn further on my journey through life.

The Formative Years: 2010-2012

My beginning poems centered around love. What it meant to love, how I would ever be loved, and if I would ever allow myself to be loved. But then something changed.

Despair and agony flooded my mind, and I wrestled with these emotions until I wrote about them on March 12, 2011.

“Reoccurring events running through my mind.

I feel as if I’ve traveled back through time.

Who can I trust either than myself?

I don’t want to be stuck by myself.

Fear now runs through my veins.

There’s nothing I can do to stop these pains.

Reoccurring thoughts are coming back.

Reoccurring thoughts make me see black.”

[Excerpt from “Reoccurring Emotions”]

“I regretfully give in to your gesture,

And all I see is that familiar texture.

Are you here to tell me otherwise?

What answers are hiding behind your deceiving eyes?

Can you guide me to my salvation,

Or will you send me to my damnation?

You are the only one I truthfully hate,

Hence your ability to control my fate!”

[Excerpt from “The Eternal Story” October 10, 2012, 2:14 a.m.]

This was the catalyst for my transition into journal-ing about my woes as well. I continued to write dozens upon dozens of poems throughout that year, while also expanding on these thoughts more and more in depth.


January 19, 2012, 12:50 a.m.

“Whenever I have any sort of downtime, it plays as my enemy. I believe I am – and always have been – wondering about my future. Where I will be, who will be in my life (if anyone) and when will I get what I’ve always wanted.

I’ve lost my identity. I don’t know who I am anymore. Mental illness? Insanity or helplessness?”

The Broken Times: Dec. 2012-Nov. 2014

Possibly the darkest times I’ve ever been through emotionally and mentally, and it all came to a head in early December of 2013. After years of believing Love was a road I’d never travel down, I knew I was at a breaking point.

December 7, 3:07 a.m.

“I am in a very dark place yet again. I’m not enjoying this cell – it’s killing me – and I’ve put myself in, while throwing away the key.”

Ironically, my only salvation during this period of my life came from writing music with my grandmother – a force like no other, with a voice that could carry for thousands of miles.

The first song we ever wrote happened in June of 2014

“Seeking Serenity”

“I’m stuck in this free fall

Patiently waiting until I stall

It’s getting lonely up here

My only friend is fear.

Serenity, serenity

My greatest enemy.”

October of 2014 was another low point, however…

On the 11th, I wrote “Far From Never.”

“I’m going back to that time and place/ The one that gave my heart such disgrace…If I’m beat enough, maybe I’ll listen/ And your gentle face will start to glisten…I need this now more than ever/ Even if love is far from never.”

On the 18th, I wrote “Everything.”

“Everything feels so broken/ My heart beats, even though it’s frozen…Everything is crashing down/ My head hears awful sound…Everything hurts when I think of you/ My eyes cry at things past due.”

On the 27th, I wrote “Tunnel Vision.”

“Tunnel vision stuck on her/ My thoughts never could deter…Life seems so out of sight/ When will things start to go right?”

The Current Era: Nov. 2015 –

The difference a year makes is extraordinarily underappreciated. In October of 2014, I was a mess. In October of 2015, I met my now fiancee and we’ve been engaged since 2018.

Still, that doesn’t mean my past doesn’t come back to haunt me every now and again.

Four years after I wrote “Everything,” I wrote “Stuck In Between,” on Oct. 18, 2018. Looking at it now, it feels like a successor of sorts.

“Stuck in between something I can’t explain/ Like something in the middle of pleasure and pain…Stuck in between something that I can’t name/ It doesn’t feel real, like I’m playing some kind of game…Feel as though I’m forever maimed/ As if I’ll always live with this pain.”


“Inside Out/Outside In” Sep. 27, 2019

“It’s like I’m cold, but on the inside/ Like pins and needles all over my mind…It’s like I’m hot, but on the outside/ Like I can’t outrun what’s been left behind…Shaking inside out and outside in/ I’m not even sure where to begin.”

“Now What?” Jan. 31, 2019

“I don’t know where to look/ Or where I should go…But I’m always pulling you in tow/ Like an arrow fired from a bow.”

“Sleep-talking” Jan. 21, 2020

“Sleep-talking but you’re silent/ Oh you’re so violent/ Starring right through me/ Not letting me be…Sleep-talking but you’re silent/ No longer one of your clients/ I’m lookin’ right past you/ As my memory forever haunts you.”

Going Forward?

As a way to end this little trip back through time, I wanted to end on a entry I wrote nearly a decade ago and a lyric from a song I wrote nearly six years ago.

Oct. 8, 2011

“After I fill the last page of this book, I wonder if I shall have the wisdom on how to move forward – both emotionally and physically…There’s still some holes to be filled, and I’m trying to find the shovel to fill them.”


“Know Me Now.”

“So afraid of where I’ll be/ Cryin’ for you to set me free…Heart beat is out of tune/ Racin’ straight towards my doom. Keep repeating the same old story/ Hoping to find my fame and glory…Will you find me soon someday/ So my mind can break away.

I remember when we met/ You came to me with a bet…Do you really know me now/ If so, show me how.”




I can write a song, but not a story

By Joshua Blake

Hi. I can’t recall when I last wrote an entry on this blog, and I’m not intrigued to find out, either.

I start my second-to-last semester of college tomorrow at 1:00 p.m. Yeah, that’s not a typo or anything. My Monday morning’s for college this semester start at 1:00 p.m.

That’ll be the only time in my life where I’ll start my week off in the afternoon – though knowing me, who the hell knows.

I’ve been attempting – and when I say ‘attempting,’ I really mean thinking about how – to go on writing this story I thought of last November.

I can write a song, intricately describing what ails me, but not a story.

It’s a damned nightmare. I have a basic idea down, along with a plot and characters. I think it’s a pretty neat take on the tried tropes of sci-fi dramas – if that even is a category – but I’m stuck.

Why am I stuck? I haven’t got a clue. Apprehension? Depression? Subjugation from my own thoughts? Sounds rather bleak, doesn’t it?

And that’s the thing about the characters in this world I’ve imagined: they’re a reflection of my apprehension, of my depression, of my will to keep fighting on, too.

I don’t understand how to isolate my emotions to focus on driving the narrative. Maybe that’s what makes it so hard for me to know how to continue on with my story.

Or perhaps I dont understand how to channel my emotions into my characters, and that’s why my narrative is progressing at a snail’s pace.

Then there’s the part of me that says “this [my story] is meaningless in the grand scheme of things, like life. But then there’s the other side of my thoughts that say “Yeah, but maybe not.”

Do you see my problem, dear reader? Yes? No?

I believe it’s natural to wonder if what we do in life really equates to anything of substance, of impact – not just in our lives – but others.

Everyone wants to have a role to play in this game called Life. But you can’t always play the role you want – and not only with the way we push 17 and 18-year-olds to get a post-secondary education – but how we push college students into this mindset that their degree is “worth it,” borrowing tens-of-thousands in student loans, only to end up paying them back years after graduation, and maybe not holding a job in the field of their degree anyway.

That’s worth all of the stress of graduating college – especially in America? Every adult I know who’s graduated college and has a job has told me a variant of the phrase “not what I started doing.”

My therapist studied to become an English teacher before finding psychology. Hell, my previous college advisor switched majors four times before sticking with journalism…my current major of the last six-and-a-half years.

Is it wrong to tell teenagers “think of a subject you wanna major in at whatever college, cause that’s gonna be your job one day?”

Of course, for some students this becomes their reality, but just because the S.T.E.M. field pays well, doesn’t mean every major in that field is going to have a S.T.E.M. focused career. It’s not sustainable economically.

People used to bash Liberal Arts majors, but at least those students have some versatility in their skill sets, unlike hyper-focused majors.

Johnny Awesome could know all about bio-engineering, or Quantum Theory, but not a damn thing about landscaping, construction, or writing.

And that’s okay. Not everyone needs to know how to do everything.

But we can’t limit ourselves to one-dimensional task-performers, either. That’s just boring. And more importantly, kind of sad.

I wanna be a good writer one day. I want my writing to impact people – whether that be in a good or bad way.

But I don’t wanna just be “a writer,” or “a journalist.” Those terms are subjective anyway. What kind of journalist and writer do I want to be?

I don’t think I’m supposed to know the answer until I get there. But, I do have a couple of aspirations, that maybe with a pinch of luck – and the good fortune of knowing some people – could get me there.

If I could be a columnist, I’d be content. If I finish my book and get it published, I’d be content. If I could play music out on the side once my career’s goin’, I’d be content.

As long as I have friends and family around me, and live with the love of my life for all of my life, I’ll be happy.

And I think this is the problem with people who feel stuck in this world: they think being content will make them happy.

Myself included.

I was talking to my dad yesterday about physical therapy and we both agreed: I should at least do something for my physical health. Having Cerebral Palsy is a huge detriment to every physical and mental aspect of human life.

But I told him that it’s hard for me to encourage myself to better myself physically.

“Cause it’s work,” he told me.

And while I agreed, there’s more to it than that.

“Yes, but does it matter?” I wondered.

I know my depression plays a role in these “does- this-really-matter” scenarios, but I also think it goes back to this idea of being content equals happiness.

Yeah, if I exercised, I’d feel better – even a little bit mentally. I’d be content, but not happier.

And that’s my point. Happiness doesn’t have a price. Not a tangible price, anyway. Robin Williams was an amazingly talented, funny, charismatic actor. But he was depressed and took his own life, because his happiness couldn’t be bought. Chester Bennington was a talented singer, he took his own life, because his happiness couldn’t be bought with his talent or all of the money he made.

Happiness is a desire based out of necessity.

So much of our focus on life is on physical attributes and assets, that we often forget about the mental side of it. It’s just as – if not even more – important.

If you’re just content with life, how can you ever enjoy it? A long time ago, I wrote about how emotions like happiness are finite – they can’t last indefinitely. So, it’d make more sense to strive towards being content – cause that’s more realistic.

How wrong I was.

Hello, Is This Thing On?

By Joshua Blake

Hi, friends! What’s new?

I’ve been trying to think of something to write – anything that’ll fill my time lately. But I can’t think of the words.

Any writers out there that know what I mean?

No? Damn. So, what’s been happening in my world of music? The bar my grandmother and I started to perform open mics at every other week shut down the musical-ness that was ensuing there.

Bummer. I think it’s been a month. The dudes that set up this little music jam were some cool, talented musicians, too.

This past Monday, my parents went into the City – that’s New York City for any of you non-New Yorkers – and my grandmother came by to help me watch my dog, Charlie.

“You wanna bring your geetar,” I asked her in a text.

We hadn’t played music together since maybe late April or early May. I can’t remember for sure.

Once she arrived, she had her music stand, guitar, and music folder in hand.

“When I saw your text I wasn’t sure if I wanted to bring it over,” she said. “But then I said ‘Yeah! Why not?”

I didn’t care what we played. I just needed to play something so I wouldn’t go crazy.

Willie Nelson, Bob Dylan, and countless other artists filled the next two hours up for us.

Oh, yeah. We played Johnny Cash’s rendition of “Hurt,” too.

It was a fun time. It was a simple time. And sometimes that’s all anyone really needs.

A way to relax.


Let’s discuss some of my favorite lyrics from my favorite singer.

By Joshua Blake

So, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?

I haven’t posted anything since Dec. 17. But, I’ve been on a huge music kick recently – aside from the demands of being a journalism major – and I wanted to highlight some lyrics from the guy above.

“I’ve made excuses for a million lies/ But all I got was humble kidney pie, so what? So what?”

This little gem named “Tumble In The Rough,” comes off of Stone Temple Pilots’ third studio album Tiny Music… Songs From The Vatican Gift Shop.

“I’m lookin’ for a new stimulation/ Quite bored of those inflatable ties/ I’m lookin’ for a new rock sensation/ Dead fish don’t swim around in jealous tides.”

It’s hard to know exactly what Scott was trying to convey with these lyrics, except the inflection in his vocals were a dead giveaway that he’s talking about his personal strife in ways I’ve never heard anyone do since.

“She turned away what was she lookin’ at?/ She was a sour girl the day that she met me/ Hey, what are you lookin’ at?/ She was a happy girl the day that she left me.”

“What would you do?/ What would you do if I followed you?”

“Sour Girl,”  off of STP’s fourth album No.4, is a great take on love and loss, and it’s phrasing is so personal, so far from cliché, you can’t help but be compelled to listen to this fairytale of supposed truth.

Scott Weiland is a name I hadn’t known until 2007 when he was the frontman of arguably the last rock band of the 2000’s, Velvet Revolver.

Then ex- Stone Temple Pilots singer Scott Weiland along with Slash, Duff McKagan and Matt Sorum of the 90’s incarnation of Guns N’ Roses formed a band born out of rebellion. Scott Weiland was kicked out of STP for his persistent issues with drug use and addiction in 2001. Slash and the other guys from Guns were seeking out a frontman for about a year until Scott joined in ’03.

Weiland proved he didn’t need his Stone Temple counterparts, while the former Gunners showed they could write great music without the vicseral Axl Rose as their bands voice.

“Hope I teach my son how to be a man/ Not before he hits 35/ Comic book lives don’t really happen in real life, do they now?”

“Big Machine” is a powerhouse of a rock song from Velvet Revolver.

“We’re all slaves to a big machine,” Weiland says. “I got houses, got cars, I got a wife, I got kids,  got money in the bank.” Sounds like the rock n’ roll life ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, huh?

“When you look, you see right through me,” Weiland opens on the 2003 hit single “Slither.” “Cut the rope I fell to my knees/ Born and broken every single time/ Always keep me under finger/ That’s the spot where you run to me/ Might see some type of pleasure in my mind.”

I’ve listened to this track for years, and it’s my personal favorite from Weiland or any other band. But since his death in December of 2015 after an accidental drug overdose, I think I’ve finally understood what this song is about: trying to fight your demons away.

Or maybe it’s just about fighting the one demon away – that side of you that says you’ll never be when you desperately search for a way to get free.

Scott couldn’t beat his demon, but his voice has helped me conquer mine for the last decade. That’s what makes his death so harrowing for me to deal with even after all this time.

However, there’s other artists that I wanna talk about – some amazing lyricists, both old and new, that have really amazed me.

So, until next time…enjoy some music.

I Have No Idea What To Name This


By Joshua Blake

Something about this photograph is hypnotic to me. Therapeutic. Distracting.

I have no idea what to name this.

Something about where I was sitting made for – what I thought to be – the perfect shot.

I have no idea what to name this.

Something about the very words you’re reading make no sense to me.

I have no idea what to name this.

Is this what I’m supposed to feel like when I’m lost in a sea of toxic thoughts? Thoughts that never seem to leave my mind no matter the happiness I experience on any given day? Is it my own insanity?

Sure I have good days – great ones even – but they’re only temporary – like most things.

I know I’ll be okay, I know I will. It’s like I’m staring at a transparent mirror, seeing everything that’s meant to be on the other side, and all I’ve to do is walk on through.

So then, why don’t I?

Am I afraid to fail? To succeed? Maybe I’m just bored. Maybe it’s cacophony.

Perhaps it’s nothing like the times before. Perhaps it’s Satan knocking at my door.

I attempt to sleep. But then I’ll just stare; blankly into the quiet and ghostly air.

If there’s such thing as regression, then what’s the opposite of depression?

Maybe I need a reboot to find a new session.

Maybe then I’ll finally learn my lesson.

There’s no point to this confession.

Paranoid Owl


By Joshua Blake

Have you ever witnessed someone leer at you in this fashion? No? Well, lucky you!

People tend to be pretty open to answering questions when I do my rounds looking for basic info for a story I’m working on. But occasionally there’s the one person who looks at me like that damn owl. Maybe the person in question thought I was a reptilian, a terminator, or The Batman!

In retrospect, it’s possible I have an arch-nemesis. I should give him a name. Every hero has a villain, no? “Paranoid Owl” sounds nice to me.

However, it doesn’t make any sense. Did I offend you saying “excuse me…?” As if it couldn’t have gotten any more awkward, Paranoid Owl walked past me  about an hour later looking at me in the same manner. Was there mustard on my face? A bunch of dirt? Was he searing through my soul with Ghost Rider’s Penance Stare?

Hell if I know. But make no mistake, Paranoid Owl’s out there and nobody can stop him — except Superman. Superman beats everyone…besides Doomsday and Batman — I mean Ben Affleck.

5 Days To Go

By Joshua Blake

No, that’s not the sun glistening in the night sky, it’s the moon – it looked better in person.

After my friend Pat dropped me off for the night, about a week ago or so, I couldn’t resist taking this picture. I’m sure he didn’t have a clue as to what I was doing, holding my phone up to the amazement that loomed above me, but then again, I don’t think I knew what I was doing either. 

I tend to find beauty within the simplest of things we all encounter in life: laughter with friends, reminiscing about old memeories, watching Anette show me the art of her craft with dreams of being a hairstylist, playing music with my mother and my grandmother, or getting sushi with my brother. 

To me, little experiences like that are what make me marvel at life’s way of saying “you’ll find your place.” Now I just have to create a path to get there. And that starts with returning to college. 

Five days from now I will be fully immersed in a program that I haven’t even touched in two years. I’ve grown ill with boredom over that time, trying to find a connection to anyone or anything – and I’ve been lucky enough to find such a loving soul in Anette to feel alive again, or possibly, for the first time in my life – but I forgot one connection: myself.

I need to connect to myself in ways that I’ve always yearned to connect with others. I’ve always felt disconnected because I don’t look at myself in the way that I should. I don’t understand myself in the way that I should either. 

I need to understand who I am and what I want. People generally have that issue, but I feel a bit…different. I tend to see what others do and think “Oh, that’s what you’re supposed to do,” completely missing the fact that everyone approaches situations in their own manner. 

Perhaps that’s why I revel in simple things: I don’t understand them. I wish to feel simple, but I am complex beyond comprehension. I don’t understand myself anymore than the picture of the moon in that calm, night sky. 

Once you stop to think about something like that, you lose yourself to all rationale. Or at least I do. Everything tends to intrigue me which is why I over think – or do I over think because everything intrigues me? Because I try to understand it, but can’t? At least not yet?

Summer’s End


By Joshua Blake

I’ve been apprehensive writing on my musings of the girl pictured with me above. She stayed with me for 10 painfully, beautiful days. We were at the beach that day. That was my favorite day with her – admiring the sunset, taking photos, and listening to her read through my journals…

She told me that it gave her a sense of trust, and that’s exactly why I wanted her to read them. A fear of unknown doubt about love plagued those journals, and it felt so nice to feel so free with Anette by my side. I’ve never experienced that feeling before. It’s hard for the both of us to know that we have to wait to see each other again. However, I knew that our connection was strong online, and it became even stronger in person.

For those who may not know – in case I’ve somehow attracted the not-so-often new reader – Anette is from Norway. I reside in New York. When I went to the airport with my parents to pick her up, she ran to me once she saw me, sub-sequentially knocking me over – it was a great moment. She was tall – taller than I expected – and witnessing her beauty in person only fueled my adoration of her.

The 10 days following showed how close we are and how natural we felt with one another. We’re equally goofy, silly, adventurous, and spontaneous all at once. Some may say we’re very touchy-feel-y,  but public signs of affection don’t bother us at all. I’d prefer to say overwhelming love. Besides, it’s not like she can just text or call me saying she’s coming over or wants to go out.

That’s what made coupon offerings for discounts or in-store credit unfortunately sad to pass on. Maybe we’d use this if we were in the same place consistently. Although, I did take her to Victoria’s Secret and buy her a bra she really loved, but that’s not what really mattered. Just being in each others presence -holding hands as we walked, and the occasional kiss – is what made every moment so special.



This was the day we went to the mall and then ate dinner at The Cheesecake Factory – our first date. She looked so pretty in her blue dress with a patch-like, eye-catching design. It’s just a shame that United Airlines lost her luggage on her way back home. Turns out they’re one of the worst – if not the worst – airliner in America (domestically and internationally). United’s entire Twitter and Facebook pages are complaints from former customers. I say former because anyone who’s used them once switches airlines – or they should. But, I digress.

We’re back to video-calling until she can return. She’s aiming for Easter and then the entire Summer with me next year.We know what this is now more than ever – but I think we’ve always known how special our relationship was. It’s been suggested through research that long-distance couples are emotionally happier and more connected to their partner than domestic partnerships. It’s easier to take things for granted when they are readily available. That doesn’t mean that this isn’t difficult for myself, Anette, or any others in long-distance relationships. They’re drastically beautiful and heart-breaking all at once.

So, what’s our next course of action? Finishing up our education and during that time, discussing options with Anette on how she can get here. It also helps that our families are supportive of our relationship. This isn’t faked, or believed to be something it’s not – it’s what it always was – a loving, heartfelt connection with someone who loves me as much as I love them.

And with that I bid adieu. I’ll see you soon, Anette.




Everything smells like you, even though it doesn’t.

I was scared even if it seemed like I wasn’t.

I’ll see you again,

I’ll see you again.

Everything sounds like you, even with no words.

I found your soul despite the huge herds.

I’ll see you again,

I’ll see you again.

Everything looks like you, even without your body.

I kiss and hold the air like some kind of oddity.

You’ll see me again,

You’ll see me again.



Insatiable Wit?

By Joshua Blake

I told my therapist that I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Racing thoughts keep me up for anywhere from 30 minutes to two hours. It’s frustrating, and I’ve been trying a new idea: setting an alarm for bedtime.

This isn’t because of my insatiable wit – that’d be blasphemy. Anette told me to try it. I’ve definitely woken up more relaxed than weeks and months previous, but it’s challenging for me to just “go to bed.” I used to write before I went to bed in a journal every night, and I’m doing that now – only here – online. I’m listening to PVRIS as I type to you while contemplating what to do for the next six days before Anette’s arrival. Cleaning would be a good start. Then walking?

Why am I telling you for? Maybe I’m bored or restless – or both. I also return to college for the first time in two years this August. I’ve not prepared myself mentally nor physically for this enduring journey that lies ahead at all until this point. At least that’s what I’d like to believe. I’m not really sure. The sleep schedule is really important for me to get down as best I can first. I’m an hour-and-a-half behind, but I’m trying. I’m on day three as of now. Maybe I’ll start walking after I wake up today or after I clean, or something.

I just wanna drown out every counter-intuitive thought that I can for the next six days and just focus on getting ready for Anette’s visit. That seems logical, right? God, it’s like I’m white-knuckled in the brain. That’d be quite the discovery.