I miss writing for my English teacher. Of course I wasn't writing "for" her - My fictional intended audience was myself. But knowing she was going to read it made me ensure I was doing something either A) new or B) better. Plus, writing as a challenge was fun. I am still able to have fun fortunately. Look at all the cool stuff I can do with words! God I wish I thought of this sooner.
The alien aimlessly rotates and floats through space, its speed unaided by gravity. When you picture the alien make sure you imagine a girl with red gauche skin and four arms (Unless you're too aphantasic to do so.). In this case, stars are as small and harmless to the alien as they are when you look up in the sky at night- So convenient! The alien clutches each star that passes, becoming no warmer, even as more begin to seamlessly orbit around it as per the laws of physics - So convenient!
Only issue with no restrictions is I find it a lot harder figuring out what to write. Just being happy doesn't make me content. I need a problem to distract ,e from my own feelings of discontent - like was I supposed to write discontentedness just now? So inconvenient!
At the centre of existence, and also the bottom left corner of some unfortunately arbitrary both map and graph, the alien feels what feels like every disruption to the senses out there - all culminating in muffled but (although mild) bone rattling vibrations. Vocal chops and fries echo through the alien's "ears". The hues "seen" by its "eyes" are inconveniently inconsistent for pattern recognition, consistently synced with the typical human colour wheel. The fawning collection of stars oscillate between temperatures of cold and negative cold, in sync with the touchy-feely vibrations' frequencies.
I suppose it's nice that I no longer have to create a structured story with a problem and solution - nor do I have the overbearing obligation to make it all about my mental illness.
So convenient!
Sometimes I feel like because it took everything to put my mental illness to rest, everything is ultimately about it…
So inconvenient!
I miss the snarky satisfaction I got from writing sarcastic lines and fourth wall breaks. It felt like an appropriate tonally inappropriate "Hi!" to my English teacher. A little moment of consciousness to bridge whatever gap lay between the kid she saw and sometimes spoke to in class and the one she always read about.
The alien was me all along! How conveniently shocking! I miss her reading my writing but I guess that doesn't mean I have to miss writing. How convenient!