that is not at all what it was like. as though one only had to become the passive conduit through which these things travel profusely and with no prompting.
well you do. that is you do and you don't. really what happened was i would agonize for an hour then drink more coffee and play more solitaire then clean the bathroom then stomp up and down the hallway and if i was lucky something would occur to me and i would rush to my desk to get it down before i forgot it forever. it comes from nowhere and goes back to that nowhere and in between you sweat a lot.
pretty much things go like this now and always did. the one difference is my tolerance for pain has dropped and so the ecstasy is less bearable or each time i remember the fear more than i remember the transport and so it is difficult to start up each and every time whereas before it was not so difficult but just as precarious.
that is it was just as precarious but i don't think i had realized my mortality to the extent that i have now so now i see more clearly just how precarious it is. or it could be that the precariousness has become exaggerated in my mind to the extent that the fear of -- what? silence? the wrong words? or something worse: a long fall unbroken by the gossamer net of the idea well articulated -- overrides the impulse to jump and to clean the bathroom and pace the hallway until something happens.
what for instance if nothing happens. or worse.