I feel relaxed in a very sublime, restful, restless, tired way. the glass of water in front of me helps. It also feels very uncomfortable to be writing this as a public comment. I am uneasy and restful at the same time, but I think it's fluctuating sort of depending on what my current focus of writing is, and my mood has a little constructive anxietish when I intend to type something new. I still feel that restful relaxed tiredness. I love it, even though stating this publicly makes me uncomfortable.

A lot of my thinking takes the form of internal monologue; talking to myself, or adressing an imaginary audience, or sometimes adressing an actual person who's involved in whatever I'm thinking about. (An interesting aspect is that I almost never imagine being talked back to.) Contrary to Alicorn's observation thinking-as-soliloquy seems pretty common here.

Some of my thinking feels like a smoldering fire, a background process that needs to be given time to run its course, to be tended and protected even though it's invisible, but will eventually break to the surface.