“He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it.” – Douglas Adams
Some days, in my usually cynical manner, I detest all that have. Then I think of the sheer blasphemy I’m committing especially to those who are less fortunate. I imagine a poor soul who sleeps on the streets, may have burned bridges (like I did), has a mental illness, or is not in a position to do better (the latter isn’t always subjective).
As a strike against the days of future’s past, I’ve decided to make the most of stability. I am currently on a brief respite, a vacation of sorts, at least from routine. It takes a considerable effort for me not to look back, not to be torturous in retrospect. In order to move forward, this mindset has to be eliminated. I do have dreams; they are all but forgotten.
I have to put boots to the ground if actually seek to make them manifest. To exercise options I haven’t explored before; the problem is in unfamiliarity not intent. The one thing that has not left me is: writing. No matter how often I fret, I can sit down and write my troubles away.
Do I have the heart?
Do I have the guts?
To remain grateful while I try to make it right…I don’t know.
My stream of consciousness goes on like a typewriter…
busy hands, busy hands…
Bye for now, KS.