Little fish, boat’s too full, down you go
Breathing in salt and fuel, tiny gulps
Statistically it’s commonplace, you’re not alone
So end like this instead of shot back at home
The world is a strange place
Quiet like bullets in a briefcase
Why do I feel like I’m in the wrong place?
Quiet like bullets in a briefcase
Quiet like bullets in a briefcase
Little man, Northern France, winter’s cold
800 hours, 4, 000 miles, feet alone
No one I know would even dare it, let alone
Shanty town bleeding out in the shadows
The world is a strange place
Quiet like bullets in a briefcase
Why do I feel like I’m in the wrong place?
Quiet like bullets in a briefcase
Quiet like bullets in a briefcase
And like that, it’s 2019
The year ended in a rush, the days blurring together.
I won’t lie, the last few months of 2018 were difficult personally. The wave of pets dying, coupled with a pretty heavy seasonal depression were hard to take.
I survived however, and made it into the new year. It’s been surprisingly busy.
Christina came across an article sometime last year about how memories are formed. Apparently regularly occurring events don’t record the same way as new or differing events. In computer terms, the brain takes only the differences and writes them down. That means that a day spent like any other will fly by (or be recalled as swiftly passing), where a new event will be recorded full length.
This explains long days as a child, as well as how doctor’s visits seem to carve off a chunk of eternity.
So, that being said, that’s been foremost in my mind. I’ve done different things. Things I don’t do regularly. It’s only the 12th of January, but it feels like it’s taken a long time to get here. I count that as a good thing.
Doing some different things will be good for me. I’ve been feeling like I might rust if I remain at rest.