the sanest insanity

This happens sometimes. Often, actually. I get so caught up in trying to figure out the best place to start that I never actually get started. I think about what I should or need to do so much that I never actually do anything. It's quite unproductive actually. Counter, even. So is the case with this blog, I've thought several times that I should catch up a bit on here, but then can't think of what would be the most relevant thing to share.
I kind of feel like I just woke up from one of those dreams where I was running around in my underwear and everyone just accepted it, there was something close to pitty on their faces. Come to find out, I am usually the last person to realize these types of things, or atleast, admit them. I am completely insane. There, I said it. If I wanted to be a little more gentle I could say that my thinking and my behavior has been completely insane. My behavior has improved dramatically but I still think way too much for my own good. I suffer my thinking. I do, it's exhausting. It's making me suffer right now a bit, so I'm going to do something different.

tickle of grass
helps me to be
moving too fast
it gets hard to see

vibrant peddles
bloom and they flower
and I still meddle
hour by hour

the sad truth
I see in my youth
they will fulfill their purpose
more completely than anything more complex

and I still try in vain
to play God
to control with my brain
as you nod
yep, he's insane.

Maybe that was, helpful, maybe not. I was too lazy to indent, which probably would have taken less time than writing this sentence. Probably. At this point though, it is highly likely that it would have taken less time. See, at first I made a feeble attempt to indent, and the little blinking bar that has another name that I can't think of right now jumped right back to the middle. It was in the middle before because I was writing that poem thing. That was a pretty humble attempt at poetry. I used the word humble because I already used the word "feeble" a sentence or too ago. Seemed tacky, or excessive, or both. Anyway, sorry I didn't indent, I don't know if that threw you off or anything. I hope you still like me. What is it that I can do that would make you like me again?

Okay, that last paragraph illustrates pretty accurately how insane I am. I spend way more energy worrying about the percieved problem or task than it would take to actually solve the problem. The fear is way more painful than the actually reality of any of it. The thinking, more exhausting than the doing. So why over-think? Why procrastinate? Why fear? I don't know. That's why it is insane.