Carefree. That's what I'd call this feeling. Ever since the holidays started I have been positively carefree. I've been going to art galleries, eating lots and lots of food, trying chai lattes in every spot I can, searching and hunting for things to keep me preoccupied, keeping little cards and snippets in my pockets, braiding my hair, listening to music on buses, going to random gym classes, fantasising about following conversations based on ones I've already had, and going on long long walks.
What I haven't been doing is thinking. I haven't been writing, or blogging. I haven't been focused on one thing or another. I guess that's what the definition of carefree is, in a way... and I'm not sure if I like it.
My thoughts aren't words anymore. They're not structured. They're not nice clear lines on a page, ready for me to analyse. Instead I could describe them as a blob. It's just a huge worry-free, pointless blob. I need to look at screens less. I want a Monica-Chandler relationship. Is it a crush or is it boredom. I want her to come home. I feel bloated. When is my next adventure? When is it? When is it? When?
It's like I can't be alone. I don't want to be home alone. I don't want to have to sit here with nothing to do but write and watch Friends and lie in my bed staring at the ceiling. I have this desperate need to make plans and explore and go out again and again and again all the time every day.
I don't want to be productive. I don't want to do that unfinished maths homework from two weeks ago, back when school was ending, an entire lifetime ago. I don't want to start practicing instruments or do my chores. I don't want to be productive, but I don't want to do nothing either. I want to have purpose, but going on 'adventures' again and again is not purpose. I don't want school to start though. Just the thought that I'll be back at school in a week makes me feel weak. It'll be the end of this weird happiness.
Do you ever feel that way? Where you have this phase where you're just never sad. You don't care about anything. Life is good, so you make problems for yourself. Plans, plans, plans - that's all I want to have and without them I feel empty because I have no worries and I'm not thinking about anything. I have no substance.
I'm bored so I'll obsess over things that aren't there. I don't care whether it's good for me or bad. I can't stop. Obsessions make me happy. They stand in the place of real thoughts and substance and time I should be spending trying to reach the top of Maslow's Pyramid. Gotta catch em all. Gotta find all those geocaches. Gotta obsessively check who's liked what photo or seen my snap story, even though I don't care all that much. Gotta look for all the signs telling me he likes me. Gotta be better than you.
I think I should start writing more again. I'll think about this blog - this little project of mine. I'll analyse and analyse and analyse, because overthinking is so much better than not thinking at all.