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Describing confusion creative writing

confusion – quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing

Confusion comes as a fog to a once clear and sunny day, and just as in those times I seek my flashlight and await for clarity to return.

Confusion was simply anxiety in a different cloak, it was when my brain defocused in an attempt to allow the dreaming brain through, the ultimate problem solver. Yet what I needed was the opposite, a chance to regain my poise, my calm, my tranquil air and have enough space to focus on what matters and let a path forwards emerge.

Confusion is the scattering of thoughts, as a flower scattering seeds in a strong wind, hoping that they will find soil and grow well. Yet when there is a job to do, when focus and attention matter, I need to teach my brain how to retread the pathways of happy memories, calm times, to switch on its own higher powers and take command of the situation.

I was a fool to think that confusion was some marker of stupidity, it is not. All dysfunctions evolved for function. Confusion is when fear scatters the higher thoughts to promote the chance of a subconscious solution finding its way through. As such, it is a problem of the environment I am in. Change to a place of loving support and calmness and the confusion goes because logical thought and empathy are now the survival advantage. If the brain believes one has time to think in safety, it will begin to think, to focus.

confused – quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing

I have a con for use, a “confuse,” so when they detect their anger, we blow out the fuse to subtle smoke and then make the smoke a thing of shame. A bit of blah from me and it’s, “Cor blimey gov’na” (Core blind me governor – “my core is blinded by the one whom governs.”) What a game! What a gay (“gay” in older English means happy) me. Ha ha ha!! Ho, ho, ho!!

I was confused because I needed to gain greater perspective, to take a step back and see the wide angle version. There was a lot more to see, little wonder I couldn’t figure things out back then.

Because people see truth from different perspectives, their narratives of the same events are often completely different. Confusion is that time when you conscious brain can’t process it but your subconscious can. So take it easy. Give it time. Have a nap. Clarity comes with patience and time. Wisdom is slow to develop, like a good old fashioned photograph.

Confusion is the time your brain spends processing. It’s a fog that clears while you relax with a warm drink and some good vibe music. Clarity will come.

“One moment I’m important, next minute I’m background at best, can’t say which one I prefer. What’s making my head spin are the transitions. I know everything is ‘need-to-know’ and ‘last minute’ for a reason, but there are days it feels like my brain cells have been randomized.”

Always there are more paths than clues. Jordan slumps, hands in pockets waiting for Neala to choose. She turns slowly, not even bothering to feign reading the map. Not once has it lead to anything it says, only trouble. Neala examines the dirt, the direction of the sun, strains her ears for any sound. None comes. For the first time since the journey began her face is completely fallen, no mask of coping left. Her eyes keep wandering, feet moving faster until she almost spins. She stops – mouth buckling, eyes wet. “Jordan, I just don’t know anymore.”

Your words and your actions are divergent, and no, not like the book. I mean they pull in opposite directions as if your brain’s narrator and navigator have entirely different ideas about the world. You talk the talk of the valiant protector, yet when push comes to shove I’m on my own. Over and over I’m left to my tormentors before they have their fill and throw me back to you. You love me with words, resent me with actions – actions that slip from you more easily than leaves from the fall trees. So why can’t you just let me go? Is it pride? Guilt? Are you confused too? Or do you not see your actions for what they are? Either way I’ve given up trying to figure you out. I’m just a ball bouncing, appearing free to the casual glancer yet always restrained by a pretty rope.