I'm Not Myself Today

CHRISTMAS COUNTDOWN:
Its a day and a few more hours prior to Christmas Eve - the birth of Immanuel, Jesus Christ, the Savior of mankind.

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I'm not myself today - one of the easiest excuses in the book, and yet often taken as a valid reason when one does something humiliating or unacceptable. Today, I am taking up that same excuse to cover up for some of the major mishaps I've been committing throughout the day. I am fully aware though of the potential cause of my inattention, and yet best take sanctuary in the vague explanation of - I'm not myself today.

I accidentaly broke one of our ceramic bowls a few minutes ago, without the slightest idea how or why conciously I had become so careless in handling the fragile object. Subconciously though is another argument; I would like to believe in Freud's explicit demonstrations of how repressed thoughts come back to haunt one in ways that only surprise them in their least expected moments. Last night, I had encountered a troubling revelation which I had tried to push in the back of my head. The source of my anxiety is shamefully of my own doing and thus the thought plagued me in the last moments before slumber, as well as occassional blows throughout the day. I have lost my appetite for food, and haven't eaten anything since last night. My brain repulses any thought that proposes edible consumption. I am not myself today, but I pray that somehow I could rationalize with myself in order to overcome this ordeal.

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For the past few days, I've been watching and rewatching Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas. If only I could be another horrific character in his head, perhaps I could find my niche or true place there. The world is seems so limited to tangibility that others try to find loopholes in order to create a new meaning to "real". My reality perhaps lies in the realm of thoughts and dreams, and that perhaps is where I dare wish to belong - not as a human physical entity but a conceptual representation of how a person would like to perceive me - thus I am everybody as everybody is their own being. I wonder if I am making any sense, but to be malleable to another's ideals at the moment seems exquisitely supreme. In short, I haven't reached the highest point of contentment, and quite contrary, I am rejecting myself and most of what I represent. I wish I could exist as a thought in a made up realm where I am most pleasurable to one, than exist physically with so called free will but in blindness and uncertainty.