Thoughts have a way of becoming real.
I know this. And so do you. Or at least I think you do.

We can think ourselves into hysteria.
I know this is true because I can see this in myself.
However, if this is true, then it must be true that we an think ourselves into a better life, or think of better ways. If this is true, then we can think our way to victory.

I can see when I have thought my way into success, and on the other end, I can identify the times when my predictions were unkind and unfair.
Sure, I can see how thoughts can become habitual.
Of course, I can.

I agree with the idea that nothing is ever exactly the same. Even more, I agree with the opinion that says no two people are exactly the same. I agree that each person has their own way of seeing things, and each person has their own DNA, their own feelings, biases, experiences, and that we all can come from the same places and see the same things, yet we can leave with different interpretations. We can come up with different opinions, and we can witness the same thing or that we can be given the same instructions, yet we can still come to different conclusions.

Nothing worthwhile is going to come easy. This means that if it’s worthy, then you’ll have to work for it.
Do you want a house?
Good. Want a nice car?
Good.
Me too.
This means that you’ll spend more time working for the house and the car and the life you want. In all honesty, you’re going to spend more time at work than you will be at home, enjoying the house you work for or doing the things you want to do, — that is, of course, unless you have money, in which case, you might not understand the same feelings when it comes to the he pride of ownership or you might not understand the success of building your own kingdom from the ground up.

But that’s okay. To each is their own.
I don’t have it like that.
I have to work for the roof above my head.

I love my Sundays.
I love my early morning rituals and the preparation for the meals I make for the week. I share, which I think is a good thing. I think sharing a meal is one of the kindest things we can do for each other. And I understand that not all people share the same taste.
We don’t all like the same foods. But, I am a fan of the discipline that says I will try anything, three times, once, which makes sense to me.

I might have gone about something wrong, the first few times, and today — well, today I stepped out of my comfort zone. I tried something different from my usual arsenal of weekly recipes, which is not to say that it’s bad or good, — it’s just different.

I was lying down, tired as usual, and looking at the flat white ceiling in the middle of the night. I was thinking about millions of ideas. Of course, none of these ideas were unhelpful to my mission at hand which was to sleep, or at minimum, at least I could relax until my alarm goes off.

I am a creature of thought. I have ideas. I have dreams, or should I say that I aspire because the dreams I have are less the sort that come with sleep and more of the kind that keeps my heart alive — or at least they should.

Nevertheless, these are the things that keep me awake in the middle of the night. I think too much. I dissect the ideas that seem to tangle my thinking and up the voltage of my energy level. But this thing that we call insomnia is something that I have lived with for as long as I can remember.
But that’s okay.
No, really.
It is.

I am not more out of my mind than anyone else is. Or maybe I am. Maybe I’m as crazy as they come. Or maybe the saying is true, that crazy people never know they’re crazy, and more as a side note, stupid people never assume they’re stupid either.
No, they think they’re smart.
Maybe the fact that I have the ability to see means I am smarter than I assume. In which case, maybe I’m not so crazy. Maybe I have needs or maybe I have a heart that broke, or maybe I’m tired, or frustrated, or maybe I’ve tried to put the square peg in the round hole one too many times.

If you want to know, then I suppose I can tell you.

I guess we can enter this one as a note to self.
Am I right?
After all, that’s wat this is, right?
This is a note to self.

The ideas behind my journals and the notes that I used to hide because I was too afraid to tell anyone about this or my secret poems, which I would scribble down, and the intention behind all the little notes and notebooks that hid by my bed were nothing more than a written need to inspire my inner trinity.
My inner trinity is this: me, myself and I.

I often dream about days when I was young or times that were either pivotal or somehow spiritually influential to me. I dream of these moments as if the fold in time was pressed down like the corners in the book of my memory.
I have reoccurring dreams from moments like the time I was in El Paso, on a road, long as anyone could imagine, and driving through the beige view of the desert and the emptiness around the highway.
I remember this trip. I remember the quiet eeriness about watching a long freight train pass by, which seemed unending to me.

I don’t know when or why. And I might not understand how things happen or when the switch takes place. All I know is I am not the same as I was.
I know that I do not see things the same way nor do I feel the same as I did.

I have aged. I have grown. I have moved ahead or I have moved on in some regards and, yes, I have regressed at times. I have gone back to older ways of thinking; only to see that I have outgrown who I was. And more, I have learned that who I was might not have been me in the first place, which is odd to say because who else can I be?
How can anybody be anyone except for themselves?

I want to come home. But first, I have to define what my home is.
I want to feel that feeling as if I have arrived, as if my trip has been so long and tiresome yet, as soon as I hit the door; I instantly forget the pains and strains of my uphill climbs. I can forget about all the infinitely evasive ideas that seem too unfair or too distant, and each time I reach, my goals and my dreams and the object of my love and desire moves to an extent that is just beyond my fingertips.
I can see. I can almost feel.
I just can’t touch.