As I begin to write, the traffic in my head spreads out so thin that it now becomes difficult for me to describe every detail that is so easily observed when I am doing measly tasks like washing dishes or scrubbing my toilet. I'm not sure why this happens. Perhaps it is a fear of the abstract becoming representational. Reflection is an important facet of all my life enjoyments like running, friendships, music, data, art, and writing. When I am unable to make something out of these reflections, it is difficult for me to be at peace with myself knowing a particular flower bloomed violently quick, and I missed it. The thought of missing or forgetting something has turned me into an information hoarder.
I am 15 minutes away from having to make a few burritos so my time here will end soon. Maybe I'll bring my notebook near the counter for chorizo notetaking.
When I grow up from all this insignificant data I've collected, I trust that it will help me be me in this particular time I am living in. In the end, I just want to make sure that on the last run I do, I will have cultivated a memory of myself so thick and kaleidoscopic that it sits independently in the archives.
Taking a million first steps,
Erik
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