Why am I writing this? This always happens. As I am living it, the events and sights and sounds around me take on a certain intensity. My mind works in overdrive- creating a moment by moment narrative of it all. And everything is so damn fascinating! So full of weight and significance. In a restaurant, a table of three to my diagonal in the other room- the fourth seat empty, the one that would have masked my whole view. But it allows me to see a young girl crying- and it seems strange for that to be happening right here in the restaurant, on this night, in this town, in my view. And I swear I'm going to write it all down. That it's going to feel great and start to take shape, or do something for me or make something happen.
But writing is tedious and lonesome. And the feeling of loss and regret from not recording thoughts is actually a much more satisfying feeling to harbor than the feeling of brain deadness that occurs after getting it on paper. The confrontation of the writing process demystifies the experience, brings it back down. By mulling it over, you kill what made it special in the first place. Conversely, the neglect of the urge to write leaves all those thoughts fresh and intact, and makes you feel more alive, with that "next time" feeling always nagging and keeping you going.