On living in the moment

I'm always living in the moment. I wanted to go swimming to think some things in my life over. But all I could think about was

• my stroke, • my breathing • whether I was going to fast or too slow • the time • the romantic preferences of the girl in the next lane • whether I was swallowing too much water • how I was finding it more rewarding than the alternative of another Friday can.

I used to walk to school and my imagination would bounce with impossible things that could never happen. I used to look forward to things. The present was just something to endure before a main event, some palpable light at the end of the tunnel bound to a point in time. At night, I would lie in bed dissecting the day, thinking over how everything happened, and what was important to me. It's sad to think that the social networks and microcultures that my teenage life revolved around, have no relevance in 2019.

So I don't, like everything else I leave in the past. I lay in bed last night thinking how empty my head was. Then I thought about changing my position. Then I thought about taking a drink of water. Then I thought it would be nice to fall asleep. Then I thought how empty my head was. Nowadays, my dreams are about the only place I can find my hopes, loves and fears.

It would be nice if they made it to hereisdistant.co.uk sometime, as I'm running out of steam with these low-spirited themes that have infected my posts.

I can be emailed