BGM: U2 - Where The Streets Have No Name
Today was a day off. This morning I went to the hospital and see my doctor. I confessed my problems to him. He recommended that I walk and do stretch exercises to sleep well. Moving my body would work well. After that I got medicines, and I went to AEON and read Yoshimichi Nakajima's "Textbook of Philosophy" there. This time I found that this book tells me about the issues I am interested in. What is me, what is language, what is time, etc? Once I read this book again and again so it might influence my thoughts. For me, as this book describes, the fact that today becomes yesterday or now becomes the past is wonderful. Of course, I can't solve this problem. But I can't stop thinking. It must be an illness.
At the Miraiya bookstore in Aeon, I bought Masakazu Ide's book "How do autistic people see the world?". Reading it, I found that this book explains how autistic people's brain is different from neurotypical people's through various experiments. It is really great. I sometimes think that my sense is "default" to other people's. But it is wrong. Other people live with their senses. It says that we have different senses from each other. That is not strange. It is our characters based on our personalities.
This book also explains how we feel the time. The time I feel and others do might be different. For example, the expert baseball sometimes says that "that ball seems to be stopped". The way of feeling the time of the expert, in other words, one of the ways of feeling the time, it might be real. I can feel the time very shortly so never be able to make the plan within a year. It might come from this kind of fact. I learned that it is related to "time resolution". I felt impressed by this book and thought I should write the world I can understand or feel. I also want to write the time I feel because it might work for various autistic people. Should I write them as a novel?
This evening I felt nothing to do so spent the time wastefully. I can't have any good idea about that kind of free time. Reading Fernando Pessoa's "The Book of Disquiet", I thought if this life would be good. I read the same books again and again... I want to read books I have never read. Tolstoy, Dickens, Barzac, etc. But these authors' books don't attract me. It doesn't attract my current mood. I want to read Ramachandran's "Phantoms in the Brain". In short, I read what I want, I live what I want, and I do what I do. Even if that life wouldn't make me someone... A really wasteful life. But c'est la vie.
