cul de sac
Cold rainy nights like tonight are perfect for slow cooking some chicken stew. Mmmm. The smell is all wafty and delicious.
I just need to start with no agenda. Forget PDAs, itinerary, to-do lists and character sketches. I simply take a page out of the book.
I want to empty out. So much clutter has accumulated through the years and it is entirely unhelpful.
My mind is filled with so many oppositions that it wastes a way in a state perpetual deconstruction. If only this led to peaceful quiet instead of confusion.
The sloth, inertia and self indulgence are like a warm bed with silk sheets and pleasant smelling candles on either side. The only thing that gets me out of it is this desire to do something, to not let this life be an intoxicated and dreamy waste. I could easily slip into day after day of sex and chocolate buffered by the softness of drugs and alcohol. Actually that sounds pretty good right now. But there is no sense of balance. Once I get myself out of this bed I am confused, over-stimulated and agitated. I think about all of the great people doing great things and how I am just a hot mess, at times a brilliant, shiny diamond but the luster only comes out on occasion like the good silver. I feel like if I could just find the right road it would end somewhere good, but I’m too afraid to take the highway and am sticking to neighborhood cul de sacs.
I just need to start with no agenda. Forget PDAs, itinerary, to-do lists and character sketches. I simply take a page out of the book.
I want to empty out. So much clutter has accumulated through the years and it is entirely unhelpful.
My mind is filled with so many oppositions that it wastes a way in a state perpetual deconstruction. If only this led to peaceful quiet instead of confusion.
The sloth, inertia and self indulgence are like a warm bed with silk sheets and pleasant smelling candles on either side. The only thing that gets me out of it is this desire to do something, to not let this life be an intoxicated and dreamy waste. I could easily slip into day after day of sex and chocolate buffered by the softness of drugs and alcohol. Actually that sounds pretty good right now. But there is no sense of balance. Once I get myself out of this bed I am confused, over-stimulated and agitated. I think about all of the great people doing great things and how I am just a hot mess, at times a brilliant, shiny diamond but the luster only comes out on occasion like the good silver. I feel like if I could just find the right road it would end somewhere good, but I’m too afraid to take the highway and am sticking to neighborhood cul de sacs.