I've been wandering around last night and this morning in an Alan Moore-flavored state of consciousness. What exactly that means is difficult to convey, except I feel a vague creative pressure and an increased need to pay attention to my peripheral vision. As though I need to be in a heightened state of awareness, because there is going to be more input than normal available.
It certainly isn't uncomfortable or anything. Just odd. It is mingled with - or involves also, I'm not sure - a vague sense of anticipation, as though something interesting is going to happen. That could be related to the extra input possibility, but is more likely a trained result of knowing Moore's storytelling abilities and style. And a tinge of sadness, because this isn't a story, this is just life - there is no organized plot thread, just stuff happening.
Perhaps that is the greatest loss I feel from the mythos I learned in my childhood - realizing that I don't believe in one omnipotent god carries with it an acknowledgement that there isn't any organized story to my life, in the sense of there being some external cosmic Author writing it, and if I just have patience I'll eventually get to the good parts. Of course my life has a narrative biographical thread - I put out enough self-involved words that it's probably got a more vocal biographical thread than many - but it isn't going to be like reading a novel, where everything wraps up at the end, some sort of climactic set of events makes everything finally make sense. It may not ever make sense. [For some personal value of 'make sense' which involves overtones of thematic completion more than biomechanical/cultural imperative-motivation.] In fact, if it does make sense, that sense will almost certainly be a function of the supreme filling-the-blanks-in in patterns facility of the human brain rather than any externally imposed, referenced or guided frame.
That "waiting to get to the good parts" thought really resonates right now. Not in an immediate time-scale sense, but in the sense that during difficult portions of my life, part of what has kept me going was the same impulse that keeps me reading through the boring parts of novels. A vague desire to see what happens, to see where the author is going or finally ends up. A vague sense that something has to happen before the end of the book, because that's how books are.
There's a framing problem from gaining most of my socialization from books I hadn't thought of explicitly before, in terms of expectations of how life will proceed! (I am smiling at myself here.) It also helps explain the vague feelings of discontented boredom and frustration, as though slogging through the quagmire of the Thomas Covenant books, as though something will happen any minute now, and yet continually doesn't.
Heh - I'm glad I find it amusing that my entire life has been an exercise in reification...
[And what that sentence says about my relative valuation of things abstract vs concrete is interesting in and of itself.]