Sometimes things are going well...suspiciously well. It's probably nothing to not worry about.
I can close my eyes and feel like I'm at some center point, an equal distance from everything.
It's soothing AND unsettling.
Send out a thought like casting a line for a fish. See what it snags.
My commute to work is similar to my old job at the animal rescue. The street I work on, Utopia, is also well known to me. Every morning my drive is paved with memories. Racing against my own ghosts. Sometimes I wonder whose ghost I am, what future self is looking back on me. Memory is strange like that. It seems like we shouldn't remember the future.
What then, perspective? Is all this perspective colluding to cloud my present vision? I sit in my center looking out, while circled by possible selves looking in? None of us doing anything but looking, knowing that if we were going to do something we would have already done it? That whatever is going to happen may as well have already happened, because we're stuck here, trapped between mirrors?
It's probably for the best that we're all ghosts to each other. We'd probably irritate ourselves so much we'd engage in frequent fisticuffs and get nothing done.
Walking on the treadmill while playing games doesn't allow my mind to wander much. I wonder if that's a problem. The once-myriad possibilities are solidifying, like egg yolk on a china plate.
Might not be so bad; might be a little less crowded, at least.