(no subject)
I've never had chocolate ice cream that tasted as good as the chocolate ice cream I had yesterday. I had never noticed that dusty, earthy flavor of the coco, or that something sweet, like honey or sugar cane. And there was something about the motion of the spoon--how it spun around that cold dairy and shaped it into some other smooth shape. My hand moved up and down, I almost couldn't control it. It wanted to go into my mouth. Yea, in fact, it was screaming at me to devour, Devour! And so I did. And my taste buds reacted and sent signals to my brain, which controls my heart and lungs. All this kept me alive.
I had this awful dream last night that six half-dead people were chasing me throughout my house. They wanted something from me, and I didn't know what it was, but they wouldn't leave me alone and I felt scared for my own life. So I had to kill them all, two at a time, two per room. After this was done, I walked into my kitchen (afraid I might find more) and started to become more afraid of what I was to do THEN. Call the police? Surely it looked like I had murdered people. Had I? Was I justified? Were they trying to kill me? Am I crazy? Am I going to jail for six counts of intentional man slaughter?
Good morning. I have to work in a half an hour. Get up. Get dressed. God life is good. I love being alive and I love living my life. I love being able to choose to take on responsibilities of a citizen and as a mature adult. It just saddens me that this isn't true for everybody, because everybody deserves a chance. And when you feel like you never get that chance, what are your options then? Be unhappy forever? Get shut away somewhere? "Deal?" I'm not sure.
I've been struggling with this idea lately, passing it from palm to palm and through my fingers and I'm not sure I've quite learned its shape or boiled it down yet.
I had this awful dream last night that six half-dead people were chasing me throughout my house. They wanted something from me, and I didn't know what it was, but they wouldn't leave me alone and I felt scared for my own life. So I had to kill them all, two at a time, two per room. After this was done, I walked into my kitchen (afraid I might find more) and started to become more afraid of what I was to do THEN. Call the police? Surely it looked like I had murdered people. Had I? Was I justified? Were they trying to kill me? Am I crazy? Am I going to jail for six counts of intentional man slaughter?
Good morning. I have to work in a half an hour. Get up. Get dressed. God life is good. I love being alive and I love living my life. I love being able to choose to take on responsibilities of a citizen and as a mature adult. It just saddens me that this isn't true for everybody, because everybody deserves a chance. And when you feel like you never get that chance, what are your options then? Be unhappy forever? Get shut away somewhere? "Deal?" I'm not sure.
I've been struggling with this idea lately, passing it from palm to palm and through my fingers and I'm not sure I've quite learned its shape or boiled it down yet.