the lights are on, but no- ah, fuck it. you know the rest.

I think I spend more time thinking about what it is that I am supposed to be doing, as opposed to actually doing something. Maybe that's what I am - a thinker. Certainly that has to be some sort of personality type. Someone whose brain is always on five-alarm but no one is actually sliding down the fire pole.

I'm hoping that analogy isn't lost on everyone because I admit, even for me, it is reaching a bit. But who am I if not colorful and occasionally ambiguous and difficult to follow?

I digress.

For example, I think constantly about writing. Constantly. I think about what I've written, what I am in the middle of writing, what I would like to write, what I should write, what I want to write, even what I need to write. You get the picture. It's an obsession. But I do very little writing. I am beginning to think that what appears to be a dramatic case of adult attention deficit disorder is actually the result of my carrying around all of these THOUGHTS in my skull without making any effort to expunge them from my head space. If you grabbed a handful of my brain and squeezed, hundreds of ideas would drip shamefully from the grey matter, beading rapidly like quicksilver, marching little soldiers across my desk. I say "shamefully" because without intention these ideas have become toxic avengers to my 9-5 existence. They've infected an otherwise healthy brain with noise, constant noise, buzzing noise that at one point in my life was a low, dull hum and has now intensified into a roaring cacophony that makes it difficult for me to concentrate on anything.

And what does this mean for me? What does anything mean that I write in this fucking blog? It means that I am a thinker. My friends write lovely and interesting blogs about what they DO. I write blogs about what I THINK about doing. Surely, that will never get old. Are you freaking kidding me? And I've done this to myself, I get it. I've put myself out there. I've started this blog. I've recruited followers. You've all signed up for this crazy ride - you've got front row seats to the freak show and the evolution of Danielle Ross.

I haven't really reconciled any of my issues, as you can see. Like mercury, these thoughts and ideas do very little to keep me warm at night as they are terrible conductors of heat. But - aha! - what fanastic conductors of electricity. If only I could channel that energy into action, rather than the distracting din currently in my skull. The lightbulbs are going off at all hours. Thank you, Thomas Edison. Yes, I can fucking see. Now please let me get some sleep.