[Shigotto] 01
05/05/08
I suppose the hardest part of a difficult day is the end of it -- when one must be inspired enough to face tomorrow that may prove to be as frustrating or worse. I find that being hopeful at that moment is the only balm that can soothe the wounds others (or even ourselves) have inflicted. I'd like to think that Tuesday will be better than Monday, Wednesday than Tuesday, next week than this week, and so on. If I were to think otherwise, I don't think I'd care about school, work, or relationships anymore.
Of course being perpetually hopeful is tiring and cumbersome, much more so than being angry at the invisible enemy. You ridicule yourself for trying to be naive and content, while in reality you're not and only by telling yourself many, many times that there's light at the end of the tunnel can you proceed with becoming inspired.
The light at the end of the tunnel is warm and bright, but it's not the end. Nobody ever told us about the next tunnel that quickly draws us into the shade and gloom once more. I guess it's just one of those little secrets of life we have to find out ourselves. Tunnel, light, tunnel, light; it goes on and on.
I wonder how people who don't love what they're doing can wake up in the morning, dress up, face the crowd, labor, and swallow their souls. There must be a greater force at work than the sense of responsibility. If only I can put a name to it so I know who to thank and to blame whenever I feel like quitting and finally deciding not to.
(a part of me, the cynical one, the one who hates it when I go sentimental and whiny, twists my ear and says, "Do you still want to live or not? Living ain't exactly cheap, you know?")
Ah, survival.
I suppose the hardest part of a difficult day is the end of it -- when one must be inspired enough to face tomorrow that may prove to be as frustrating or worse. I find that being hopeful at that moment is the only balm that can soothe the wounds others (or even ourselves) have inflicted. I'd like to think that Tuesday will be better than Monday, Wednesday than Tuesday, next week than this week, and so on. If I were to think otherwise, I don't think I'd care about school, work, or relationships anymore.
Of course being perpetually hopeful is tiring and cumbersome, much more so than being angry at the invisible enemy. You ridicule yourself for trying to be naive and content, while in reality you're not and only by telling yourself many, many times that there's light at the end of the tunnel can you proceed with becoming inspired.
The light at the end of the tunnel is warm and bright, but it's not the end. Nobody ever told us about the next tunnel that quickly draws us into the shade and gloom once more. I guess it's just one of those little secrets of life we have to find out ourselves. Tunnel, light, tunnel, light; it goes on and on.
I wonder how people who don't love what they're doing can wake up in the morning, dress up, face the crowd, labor, and swallow their souls. There must be a greater force at work than the sense of responsibility. If only I can put a name to it so I know who to thank and to blame whenever I feel like quitting and finally deciding not to.
(a part of me, the cynical one, the one who hates it when I go sentimental and whiny, twists my ear and says, "Do you still want to live or not? Living ain't exactly cheap, you know?")
Ah, survival.