Sometimes when I write, and sometimes when I talk, and sometimes when I think, and sometimes, a little bit, when I listen (I don't do that one much)--and sometimes, when I sit outside in the evening air and rising dark, my life seems to make sense, or almost does. Most of the rest of the time it tends to be muddled--or get that way really fast. Yeah, I feel like I've got mud on the inside of my head.
...Although now that I think about it, those sometimes are maybe a...lot of the time? I'm not sure. I just tend to feel so widely different even from one type of sometimes to the next, that it makes me very confused and the muddled times a lot stronger. I think I've got about maybe ten too many different "sometimes" going around in my head. (Okay, maybe 20 million.)
Did that make sense to anybody else?
Okay, probably not.