I remember being very annoyed with myself in either the first or second grade because I couldn't stop daydreaming. Seemed at times I couldn't concentrate continously in class for a single minute. Instead... I'm suddenly flying off, literally, out the window, etc.

I wrote a story when very young about finding a secret door hidden in the corner of my room that led to a hidden place where I ...what was it that happened? Did I obtain power? Something like that...

And so endless such daydreaming. Daydreaming of being a: professional basketball/baseball/football/tennis player/boxer/composer/musician/writer/scientist/inventor. More fantastic when younger, then I dreamed of really doing amazing things: levitating, magic in general. Such daydreaming.

Of course dreamed of women also, etc, etc.

As I got older these dreams have disappeared. First in that it became clear they weren't actually going to happen. Then in the understanding that even if they did it wouldn't actually mean anything to me anyway. And that most of it was really just the desire for power...

So then hope was gone. All my grandeur dreaming, was it seems, primarily my hope. To sit and have such dreams was a fun way to spend my time. To work towards such dreams was something actually worth doing.

Perhaps it's what I got from my biofather. Going back to Rowling's Slitherings whom desire power.

I've negated most such dreams and where/what is my hope now?

...so much to be said for forgetting. Someone (nobody famous) asked recently, "Does total forgiveness only come with total forgetting?" Such a horrible thing to say as forgiveness should be about understanding. But actually forgetting it seems is so essential to life in general...

Horribly insomnified and facing the prospect of a 15 hour day taking care of critically ill people. I can't fall asleep. I finally get up and turn my music on, as it sits up in the far right corner of this blog like so many trees fallling unheard in the forest. I manage to catch the edge between sleep and waking. And enjoy the collapse of logic as I lay there and try to make nonsense sense of the music. The songs speak. Obviously literally speak at times. For hours I can't actually sleep but I lay there drifting to the edge at least into some other consciousness. Something different at least. Through at least the first 60 songs. A very few times I fall into a 10 minute sleep. Once I wake up to Tschai's Spaceport. I hear it. Not able to place it. I know I wrote it but have no idea what it's name is, or what the construction was... Instead I hear it in it's true beauty for the first time ever.

I'm laying there and praying I'll get the call that they have enough people and I don't have to come in. And I do get that call for the first 4 hours off.

I can't sleep remotely anymore though. I come downstairs. I check out the demo for z3ta+. High CPU but has a nice sound and does indeed do the microtuning. Great!

Alternative consciousness, perhaps symbolism or false symbolism or synthesia or sycretism or just blissful illogic... combined with getting 4 hours off and finding that z3ta+ looks nice... The earlier despair about the end of hope which is slowly dragging me to Nothing is forgotten for the moment.

And I had forgotten: just feeling physically horrible. Insomnia is an awful feeling. Combined with my body feeling like it's on fire. This was caused by overzealous Grease The Groove exercise. So I knew to rest and as I missed the next and next workout my body relatively quickly repairs.

So then, happy for a change. Now 4 days off. Where will I be in four days?

The cycle repeats such that one could perhaps remember better and predict... But what would such remembering do? Would it improve the situation or make it worse? Would the remembering help the predictions such that I could avoid the pitfalls? Or is the forgetting the only respite that there ever really is?