Coleridge and me, we would’ve understood one another:

“Nothing affects me much at the moment it happens – it either stupifies me, and then I perhaps look at a merry-make & dance the hay of Flies, or listen entirely to the loud Click of the great Clock / or I am simply indifferent, not without some sense of philosophic Self-complacency. – For a thing at the moment is but a Thing of the moment / it must be taken up into the mind, diffuse itself thro’ the whole multitude of Shapes & Thoughts, not one of which it leaves untinged – between which & it some new Thought is not engendered / this a work of Time / but the Body feels it quicken with me—-”

So often I think of nothing, awash in trying to perceive.