Falling through the universe

I have a lot of time on my hands.
This often happens when one is immortal; when one's home is the stars. One has a lot of time.
I come up with things to do in my time that the entire population of the Earth, past, present, and future, would probably never dream up. Because I am infinity and I am forever and that gives me a significant advantage over the minute brains and specks of lifespans of humans.
I bathe in pasta and contemplate whether the tomato sauce will soak through my pores. For all my years of life, if life is the word for it, I have never had much of an interest in science. I couldn't tell you what I am made of or how I work or how the universe works, at least not in the scientific sense. Honestly, I don't think anyone could tell me what I am made of or how I work because I am made of everything and nothing, and I work as the universe works, and who can say just how the universe works?
I have recently started experimenting with my pasta baths. I used to only bathe in spaghetti, but then I thought I might try shell pasta, and that was interesting albeit slippery. The spaghetti tends to get wrapped around one's ankles, like a very skinny and very long lover with a multitude of arms. A slightly creepy, skinny, long lover with a multitude of arms. Certainly a bit creepy. I have never had a lover with more than twelve arms. Twelve seems more than enough, I do think. She could certainly do some interesting things with those twelve arms of hers, if you can really call her a she. She called herself a she though, and that's all I really need to know.
Us beings of the infinite, of all of space and all of life, have trouble with the limitations of language, or at least of the language of mortals. We are not so simply defined as big or small, male or female, alive or dead, here or there. In our own languages, we have words for such things, but some concepts can never be grasped by such small creatures as mortals generally are. And we are so few, and so different from one another, that we each have our own language, and we only understand ourselves, and almost never speak to each other for fear of being misunderstood. But aren't we always misunderstood?
Something I like to do when the sky is young and full and buzzing with fresh, calm energy, is fall. I love to fall. All that is needed to fall is a great long space beneath you. Though in space there isn't a beneath you. There is just a lot of space. Though 'a lot' and 'space' hardly describe it. I am not stationed in any particular place, on a planet or some such physical, specific location. I, in some ways, am in many places at once, but also in one place. When I fall, I stop controlling myself, stop deciding which way to look, which way to turn, where to go. I have spent years falling. Your years, not mine. I have no years.
After a few years of falling, I start to fade away, I allow myself to not think, I just fall and nothing else. Myself, and my life, are. And there is nothing more.
After a few more years, everything starts spinning. I can never tell if it is me who is spinning, perhaps nudged by a passing piece of space junk, or the stars. I have tried to pay attention, to find out what it is that is spinning, but I always try to pay attention after I have already begun to spin, so I have never been able to figure it out.
After spinning and spinning and spinning, I begin to come to back to consciousness, to wondering and thinking and wanting and eventually doing. I think for such a long time that I decide that I want to do something, so I think about doing something, and then I decide to do something and then I do that something. Before, I found a measure of absurdity in this, in the process I would go through to have this idea, to do this something. And then I realized that this is the same process that we all go through, big or small, infinite or finite. For me, as with everything I do, the process is simply expanded, throughout the universe, throughout all of time, throughout all of thought and action and love and misery.
Somehow even after millennia of falling, my ideas are still sometimes crap. It makes me wonder. But not too hard.