Of Introspection, Retrospection, the looking back and the here and now, all screaming for attention in an over-alert ever-sensitive conscious awareness of the present.
I could so easily attempt to compose a presentation a litany of my thoughts if only it they weren't such a mess, if I only had the faintest inclination how to, and if I wasn't getting ready to face another night-shift.
I'm inspired by it almost to the point of attempting to write a story. ME! Fiction! I can't believe it.
It seems as though this is, and shall always be, the way of things.