I’m hearing some people say that thoughts unspoken and not really thought. Writing it out is certainly better than getting my thought circulatory system clogged up with unthought ideas…Or maybe I could say undigested thoughts.

I imagine getting backed up with thoughts or half-grown concepts and ideas begging for a chance to grow. Or dying like grass and cluttering my brain with underbrush that I’ve not cleared away.

I do have a set of wonderful smart people with whom I can conversate. I love having long talks to think through what is going on in my mind, my life and the world. But the way things are in my life mostly I write things.

My world is small. I go very few places and see very few people. I would rather go more places and have adventures

However, my body is weak. My mind is weak too. My edge is dull and so is my life. I’m still thinking things. Often in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep.

There is a weird tangle of briar thoughts that I can’t quite deal with. They can’t quite finish growing and I can’t quite find the time to finish the incomplete half thoughts I am thinking.

I had been accustomed to my body working a certain way, and even more so my brain. This medical treatment—targeted poison—has left me in a surreal twilight.

Just wait. This will pass. Like the water crashing on the beach, leaving the sand rippling and smooth.

I do well not to focus on the crash, and to keep looking for the smooth ripple that will come.