In my sketchbook:

Thursday, February 9th, 2012

What am I thinking about? All I can think is this question. And there is an annoying banging coming from above. I seem to have just realized that all along I have been wondering about the people around me. I can hear their voices and I want to know what they're doing. Yet, somehow it wasn't at the forefront of my thought. Instead I was focusing on trying to figure out what I'm thinking and this other curiosity was merely sub-thought, one not directly in consciousness at the time but always there! Where was it if not in my direct consciousness? Was it in in my sub-conscious? If it was in my subconscious how could I be aware of it now?
My boot just squeaked. I heard that directly.
I hear the faint whoosh of my hand slide across the paper and a quiet shh of  the pen putting ink on the page. And all along those other voices are still there. But again, they weren't in direct consciousness.

They are now.
I wonder what they're talking about and what they're doing. Am I missing out on anything?

I just hit my head on the shelf. In the moment I hit my head it seemed that was all there was on my mind. Suddenly I realize my head is now resting on the shelf. Its been there longer than I've realized.

What is that banging?

Even in the instant I banged my head, when it seemed like all there was was that action happening, those voices were always there. But not at that moment. It seems like they were always there but I didn't realize them until just a moment after. Or was it actually during that moment?
Someone walks down the hallway and suddenly I realize my left leg is falling asleep. I adjust my leg.

Has it been cold in here the whole time?
There was a moment there between some of those thoughts where I realized my wrist was facing outwards.
For a moment it seems as if my mind isn't thinking anything, but is aware of the noises and objects that are around me. But there is still that thought that I must start thinking something. I'm searching for something. But every time I try to figure out what that thing is it feels like I can't think anything other than to think about thinking about something. It's usually accompanied by a great awareness of my surroundings.
People try to talk to me, but I get annoyed. I just want to be left alone to think. Two people walk by and I can't help listening to their conversation. Something about why one of them put something away.
It's strange trying to write about this now. I never seem to be void of anything to write because there are always things happening. It seems that there are millions of things happening at once and I can't capture them all in my writing. I can hear someone spelling a word out loud.

Where am I? What am I doing?

Suddenly I remember that it's cold in here and feel chills down my back. Somehow I think they've been there all along. Again an empty mind.
I'm concerned with the people walking by and looking at me. I feel like they need to see me doing something. We get into a short conversation about my frustration. He tries to encourage me and make me feel better. It doesn't work. I get distracted. I need to focus again.

What am I doing? Again, blankness.
Awareness, but no thought beside that I need to be thinking.
It's strange because in those moments when my mind seems to be blank I can feel that it isn't. It's more like trying to catch a thought that's flying by. Trying to pinpoint one, but they're all equally trying to get away.

I think about memory.
I've heard that everything is a memory. Everything is based off of memory. I don't have thoughts, I have memories of them. What a strange item. A thought. It's not a physical thing, not something that you can have anyway. It's something...It's something ...Blankness.
I try to catch my thoughts as I am having them (or making them?) but as soon as I do they trail off once again into blankness. Let me try again. I can get through the thought, but it feels less like a thought than me just reciting something in my head.

There are those chills again. They've been there all along.

Someone enters the room again. There is no use. Two of them, now in conversation.