There are times in life when you see yourself as your own enemy, when the light of the day seems vague compared to the clarity in your mind about your apparent abnormalities, when you, with a dart of shame, realize you could do more than just being a crazy thinker. But the gruff analysis of oneself only makes you crazier.
Yes, I keep thinking about a simple joke pals crack and create a tragic tale out of the laughter, I keep twisting the questions and derive a suspicious tone out of it, I keep replaying the past scenes and amalgamate the dialogues to construct a dialogue for me to mutter in the next conversation, and I keep lurching away from the crowd and yet blame the crowd itself. So I dub myself crazy. I painfully wriggle in the whirlwind of realizations and resolve to be, well, to act, practical; to brush off my abnormalities.
So there are more lulls than interactions in every conversation just because I don't want myself to think it my way. Crazier. Then I over react, I write depressive lines, I declare I hate myself. Even more crazier. Come on, what happened to that self-evaluation-is-a-refining-process thing? I can't see my orchestra composing better, melodious tunes.
May be my way of thinking isn't much of optimism and simplicity, may be it's way past being practical, may be it wreaks many moments of my life and may be that's wrong but, broaden my understanding, it does, help me reach to better conclusions it does and despite creating endless questions and fuzzy answers, inspire me to a greener pasture of interpretation it does. Heaps of perplexities and depressions it does pile, but I can't deny that there's LIFE in it, there's way of understanding LIFE in it.
"People die of thinking as they die of any other disease," one my favorite sayings I've heard so far, keeps screaming out itself in my mind and my response, supposed to be supporting how its trying to decatalyse my thinking, antagonistically reproduces another set of thoughts and there, I'm one step closer to my death! I smile at the hilarious approach to such a solemn adage and walk in circles of my convoluted thoughts again.
Here again, I'm panting because I've made my thoughts run so hard. Crazy or not, 'guess I can't quit it. And most importantly, now I know - I think, in fact, I over-think because I like thinking; because it's being me.