due to sickness, and
marriage.
have been feeling so much, too much lately at work.
want to cut out the day, insert paste sitting on a bed and reading 'the tibetan book of living and dying', songs playing.
songs are quite dangerous. i associate them with particular times, days, and they make me long for things i shouldn't long for.
i guess they pick me up and displace me in the past, but sometimes it's hard to get back to now.
does life have to be the same?
a repeat.
job / family / life / inside / shuttered
i want something different. it is a novel idea occurring to me lately-
(why don't you go out)
(and make it different, then, esther?)
(why don't you)
(abandon the social conventions of your time)
(and just be?)
i wish my shoulder didn't hurt. believe life would be now x at least 2.
am neglecting real world tasks because am expecting a Perfect.
by a Perfect, i mean, a perfect time, a perfect place, where there is time to arrange, to organize, and execute tasks efficiently and on time.
in the absence of such a Perfect, i throw up my hands and absolve myself of all responsibility.
the sneaking suspicion comes, that there may be no such Perfect.
alas, it shall be the death of me.
at least i will die with a smile and hug it in my arms. like this. :)
esther
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