The hour before I leave my notebook is a period of crippling anxiety. When I’ve no time to myself, I don’t mind. As soon as I get a little, I fear losing it. The fear of losing it paralyzes me, and then it would be just as well if I it had been lost already. The same thing happens to me when I think of my impending death.
I remember this one time my friend and I were driving down this backwoods ass road that no one else was on but some wild looking animals and this sign was there that said, “Now Entering a Wild Area,” all official government like. No idea what that meant at all but we had been driving for ten or eleven hours at that point and things didn’t look good. The imagination ran wild and we threw on Rob Zombie‘s Greatest Hits. That shit was trippy. I don’t usually like scary things, and I was scared as fuck, especially since I wasn’t driving, but it’s fun to remember.
I was thinking today about memory and the future and such. I was thinking that the best thing to do is to consider the present a kind of workshop for making memories. And then completely forget about the future. And consider memories the foundation of my perception of life, and either focus on them or what is happening right now, and rarely think about the future. Because thinking about the future is where anxiety and dread come in, along with in some cases however rare excitement and anticipation. But who knows if there will be a future, so why dread it, and anyway dread just kills any pleasure you feel in the present.
It’s just another way of thinking about living in the moment. I always think about living in the moment but of course that’s easier said than done. So I was thinking that if my mind does wander, I should just think of memories, instead of making conjectures about the future.