A Journal of Sorts
. o O ( of course I should be sleeping ) O o .
entry in progress more to follow later this is not the time to explain, however nothing is acually as it appears (unless you understand the secrets, but that would be telling) remembering, however vaguely, a core tape left with the person I trusted most in this life that was discarded as would be trash (or was that me?), I find my senses misting up (and down) and want to cry, but alone there is no longer any fun or reward in misery or self-pity, so rather than waste my time and energy (both, unfortunately, becoming increasingly more limited in supply and demand), I shall ramble on and seek further distraction in literature on and off the web (and in my mind, or whatever is left of it).... and I found this this (we have all been here before?) and rushed (or perhaps I scuttled) to the woodshed somewhere in the back of the yard behind the house in which I live in my mind to see if anything was still there and I found that aforementioned most trusted person returned nothing (not even the shattered images of my broken hearts) and I was devastated once again (how many seas must a white dove sail?) until I remembered to pay my storage bill and renew the ancient hope that something (me included) survived the unrelenting Buffalo, NY winters and sauna-like enclosures of storage facility enclosure that is not climate-controlled in the summertime... no wonder, after all this time, Marvin makes sense to me that is sad so sad, I have to laugh and I shall continue because there is nothing else to do (even as worktime rapidly approaches... a time frame I am increasngly more reluctant to enter with each passing day)... perhaps if I demanded (or at least set) a goal for myself... to catch up on all these jornal entries by... a certain date... I cold do it, if I wanted to... but alone, the motivation wanes to nil... maybe if the right person came along I would... maybe if the right person returned from the dreaded past to lighten the load memory has become, I would... but then, I am finding that my hope fades as my belief in human beings withers as my faith in my own judgment erodes as time goes by without a word from those who swore to care or those who promises love until the end of time... maybe time has ended and I wasn't paying attention... ruminating over the potentially depressive (and devastating) carcasses piled up outside (and against) the door of my woodshed (is that where I've been buried all this time?) does me no good... nor would trying to eat my way ot as the rot would certainly be even more detrimental to the physical health of this body than the current diet of animal fats and carbohydrates currently pouring through the hole under the nose... health has never been such a low priority in the acutal living of this life as it is these days... that is sad too sad to laugh about but I really do not want to die just yet, so there is no good reason to tempt death as I am doing... just because I have an itch I find challenging to reach and nobody has cared enough to notice, no less scratch if, for many years and I am wondering with increasing frequency and intensity if I'll ever have that recipe again... J |
audios literata edibles gardens oddends linkage moments |
work,
work, Pink Restaurant at the End of the Universe by Douglas Adams pizza future past wantlist READ DISCLAIMER are you ready yet? fun with numbers and wandering the web |
(TO LEARN MORE ABOUT WHAT THIS IS, CLICK ON THIS LINK)
JOURNAL INDEX |
TURN THE PAGE |
(please note the same time menu bar may be behind for a while) THE SAME-TIME MENU BAR - FOR EACH GARDEN AROUND THIS SAME TIME NEW KIT WORKLIFE LIFETIME JOURNAL HEARTBEAT GAMES WANTS |
