Sometimes I feel that I am thoroughly confused all of the time. I am always utterly disoriented and just sort of bobbing along with the ebb and flow of being, except for in the spontaneous instances where I feel inspired. Like when I start writing a novel on a 3 by 5 card on the muni, and I have to scribble it kind of fast cause I have to get off at the train station, and there’s a shady looking character in the corner of the bus who looks like he’s either nodding off or planning to make a swipe for my purse, but I’ve got to keep scribbling anyways. Is that a weird time to feel alive?
