The lunatic is in my head.

never fails. every time the moon waxes full, I feel like a thousand pins are navigating through my pores trying to find a way out. the adrenaline rush to which i have become addicted and wish i could find rehab for. two days later the whole thing is gone like a fever dream.

i wrote in True and Selfish Prophets, as Igwa, the protagonist searches for quiet: "How ironic that the glue of my sanity is lunatic."



i can't even create at times like these.

i read a book once called "how the moon affects you". they recorded the highest number of crimes and psychological emergency calls during full moons. their thesis is that some people are more prone to this than others - that those who typically walk the line between this world and some other are akin to tightrope walkers, whereas those who have found a sturdier footing in terra firma rarely feel swayed by the moon's influence.

well, i fall in the former category. i wish advil fixed it. the only thing that does is running, baying, and writing.

i usually get through the tricky moments by reminding myself that if Alice lost her cool in Wonderland she would literally have lost her head. but this propensity towards turning into a werewolf brings a whole new meaning to "follow the white rabbit..." roast it, eat it.

i think i'm gonna go meditate.