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It is actually very relaxing to write this. Sitting behind a desk for the first time in a very long time, well lit and comfortable. I'm not quite sure what to do with all of this yet, but I'm sure something will present itself eventually. For some reason, a lot of things in my life fell into place rather naturally. Of course that was partly because I actually let thing happen and didn't resist too much.

Anyway, this is one of the very few times ever that I've written something in the present rather than the past. It's almost fascinating for myself to think things and see them appear on the paper as my pen moves across it. It required so little thought, almost no effort. Just a smooth flow from my mind to the world.

As I write this, I'm almost wondering what crazy things would happen in my mind if I just let it go wherever it wanted. Dreaming, without going to sleep.

Dreaming...

It's weird how I didn't miss dreaming itself, but it did make me wonder if and how it changed my perception of the world. Sleeping was very restful for me, but I remembered how insomniacs didn't dream. Not dreaming means the mind would have no chance to file all the things that happened during the day. No way to give order to the chaos. And if that lasted for a long time, then every memory and moment would feel unreal.

And that's not how I feel.

To me, things are always so real. Every glint of reflection on passing cars, every shadow in the clothes people wear. Even the lines in their faces, their hair, their eyes. It was fascinating to just look around in the bars and pubs I visited. Then there were the smells. Not all of them nice, with alcohol, cigarettes and sweat being the top three annoying scents. But then there were plenty of nice ones, people, perfumes, flowers, trees and, yes, the ocean.

I miss the park.

I miss sitting in a tree in the light of the setting sun. Looking at children playing or reading a book.

I miss being normal.

Even though I've gotten so much in exchange for my normality. Adventures that a lot of people can only dream of or read about, but very few normal things. Like being able to sit for a night in a room and just writing. Like I am right now.

I miss my mother, my friends, my loved ones. Missing the gentle hugs they gave me.

It's very weird writing all of this down, confronted by my joys and fears.

So, what are my joys?

My climbing has moved from trees to houses, from reading to writing. In fact, I never expected to write so much in my life ever before. Even just this diary. I could only imagine what someone would feel while reading this. Perhaps some distance, as it felt so strangely frightening. Or just a smile of amusement. Perhaps even a raised eyebrow of surprise.

What would I feel when I read things like this?

It would be different for me now but... Let's say I'd read about a girl werewolf. A girl having been bitten by a creature of the night and who now turns, against her will, into a monster every night. To make things more exciting, she'd have to remember things. Although it could get very interesting if she didn't originally. If she just found her hands and lips smeared with blood with no idea why.

What would her story be?

A furry one maybe.

One I could sink my teeth into.

Maybe someone had already written it.

I put the diary away for a while as I just went on-line and read some random things. My interest started with werewolves and their lore, but from that I got easily led towards stranger and weirder things. Websites could do that to a curious person, leading you from one interest to the other and further along. Before you knew it, hours had passed and you'd looked at things you didn't even know existed before.

At one point I even found myself genuinely interested while reading about paperclips. Not the most riveting read one would expect, but it was surprisingly funny to find out all the shapes that people had tried to do something as simple as holding paper together. Complex metal alloys, shapes and sizes, carefully experimented with until the perfect shape was found; the common paperclip.

With thoughts and distractions like that, time was easily wasted until it started being early. I shutdown and closed the laptop, writing these past three paragraphs before I would try out my new bed.

It's really weird just writing what I'm doing rather than writing it down as I'd tell someone. The difference is that I'm not telling it to my diary, but just writing it down before it becomes a story.

Thoughts that, I'm sure, will haunt me later.

It is so tempting to make scary noises now.