Like I’m on Speed

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My mind is conjuring up thoughts so quickly, I cannot keep up with it. I stumble over my words. My jokes fall so flat, they may even be offensive to some people. My coordination is so off to the point I jerk and twitch at even the most minuscule object in my path. My writing veers off the road of comprehension, but I can’t feel too much of a need to set my writing on the right road again.

There is no time.

I feel like I’m on speed (or at least what I would imagine the feeling to be). I’m completely aware of my surroundings, yet I still feel like I’m living in a dream. There’s no room for daydreams through — only thoughts driving 100 miles per hour in their electric current cars across the highway of my nerves. There’s no time to take in the sites. There’s no time to smell the scented plastic roses and investigate why exactly are they plastic.

There is no time.

All I can try to do is somehow catch my thoughts as their cars hit a perilous curve on my nerve highway and direct them towards the library a little to the left of the center of my brain. I may miss (which results in inane mistakes). I may hit (which results in quick realizations and solving of problems). I do not know. I feel insecure about how I talk and the excitement I have for everything because I can sense my current persona turning people away from me (if not only for an hour or a day).

This feeling, this feeling, this feeling.

Like I’m on my own brand of invisible, everlasting-for-a-day speed.

A part of me wants to detox, the other part of me is reveling in this bounce-about energy I have. My mind is in too much of a rush to slow down and have the feeling of conflict creep upon it though.

There is no time.

There is no time.

There is no time because my mind cannot be bothered by the tick and tock of the clock . . .

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