Memo woke with a start. Last he remembered he was in Sugarcube Corner writing down his thoughts, but after taking a brief moment to soak in his surroundings, he concluded that he was sitting rather uncomfortably on a park bench.
Memo stretched, and massaged his sore neck while quietly thanking his subconscious for being above falling asleep on the floor. After taking a minute or so to ease his sore muscles, Memo shifted his weight, trying to find a more comfortable position to sit in.
After accepting that no such position would come to him, Memo settled to simply lay across the bench as he spied his old notebook laying on the ground nearby. The cheap paper cover stared back at him intently, as if trying to coax him into picking it up. He happily obliged, wiping some dirt off the back of it before raising the notebook onto the empty space in front of him.
Memo frowned slightly as he noticed some of the pages were becoming ruffled. "Serves me right for buying the cheap ones." he muttered to himself, turning to the first page of the book.
A Familiar title greeted him.
A Book Where I Write Down Ideas
"Real original." Memo chuckled to himself. After a brief moment, Memo sighed and read on.
After skimming past the first couple of entries something caught Memo's eye and stopped him in his tracks.
After stressful events, I like to do low stress activities to help relax. Slowly but surely, those low stress activities start to bring up stressful memories, and are no longer low stress. I'm afraid that things I love doing - passions of mine - will become too stressful and overbearing for me to do in a practical manner.
"That's rather silly." He mused, a small grin forming on his muzzle.
"If I'm really passionate about something, no amount of initial stress should be able to ruin it for me."
Opting not to think too much into it, Memo read on to the next entry.
It's hard to look forward to social interaction when your honest opinion seems to make other ponies angry. I'm being completely logical, why is that so hard to understand?
Memo couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic. He used to be so stubborn at times.
Memo looked further down the page and noticed a rather long passage. Unable to contain his curiosity, he began reading.
Overall it's been a pretty bad day. I've accomplished very close to nothing - apart from reading several library books. I'm starting to seriously question why I started using this notebook, as if I have anything worth writing down. I think I need somepony to help me out of this slump.
Memo traced a hoof over the page of his notebook. He couldn't imagine not being able to re-read things he once thought so strongly of. Without those memories, he felt as though a large piece of himself would be missing.
If he could appreciate his notes now, he could only imagine what an older, wiser Memo would say about them years from now.
Memo abruptly returned his attention to the notebook in front of him.
Mom won't help, she'd only make things worse for me. I can tell she's more than sick of me, the only reason she kept me around as long as she did was because I could cook better food than her. I know I need a push, but from who? Nobody I know has the time or motivation to really offer me something like that. Everything I've picked up has lead to a dead end and I'm sick of wasting my time and the time of others when I already know how things will end up.
Maybe I need a mare in my life. An equal, somepony I can pour my time into. Somepony I can genuinely care about. Somepony who can talk about the most mundane things imaginable and still manage to captivate and inspire me. Yeah, now that I think about it, I'd like that. But things are never really that simple are they? At least they don't seem like it for me...
My life feels like a living embodiment of Murphy's Law. Does that make me a willing Guinea Pig? Perhaps I was bred for this? Never destined to see what was outside of the transparent walls around me, but instead, born to die.
What does it mean when even in my fantasies, my dreams don't come true? What hope is there when even my subconscious can't see the light at the end of the tunnel? Is it time for me to pack up my proverbial life and move on? All I have left is the long buried dream of me meeting a potential love that most likely doesn't even know who I am.
Truth be told, I have potential. However, anyone who's taken a simple equestrian science course can tell you about gravitational potential energy. In order for me to have any energy, I must first be at a point far enough from the core of the planet that it tries to pull me back into it, forcing me to fall back into it's clutches.
Nothing has begun for me, this is no potential energy for me to use up. So here I am, below rock-bottom, spinning rapidly with the earth's core, being crushed by the heat and pressure of those around me. Given enough time, who knows? Maybe I'll emerge a resilient diamond? Maybe one day I'll shine and people will want to grow up to be just like me.
Maybe one day.
But not today.
Something wasn't right. Memo knew he wasn't okay, but was stuck with an overwhelming sense of dread before he could act.
Memo's head pounded and throat went dry, as large beads of sweat began to form all over his body.
Panic overwhelmed Memo as his heart sped up, kicking him relentlessly in his chest.
Am I having a heart attack? I feel like my hearts going to burst out of my ch-"Ak!"
Memo was unable to finish his thoughts as a sharp jolt of pain arced through his body, causing him to choke on air.
Memo forced his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to block out some of the pain, but was met with worse pain as his other senses heightened.
Memo clenched his jaws shut, trying to block out a growing pain in his head as he curled up into a ball and held himself.
He could feel hoofsteps, there had to be somepony nearby, it was the middle of the day and there should have been plenty of couples going for walks.
Before he could even think to call out for help, the park seemed to fade away as Memo's vision faded to black.