Thursday, August 21, 2014
Time being, a skunk has issued forth its pungent aroma nearby our domicile. Meanwhile, I sit in the quintessence of my own private thoughts, winding down in tandem with this day. This day, unlike yesterday, but, still, similar to days I've passed through. That's what we do, isn't it, we pass through the days, for it's all we can do. You can't resist the twisting of the hours, the hiccups of the minutes, the twitch of milliseconds, the arc of the sun. This world will put pressure on you from every angle, even angles you didn't know existed, angles that come howling from a distant future, howling of fragile uncertainty, leaving you mixed and mashed metaphorically. I came here with a delicate idea of what I wanted simply to be in this world, a loving somebody, minimal in my expectations, free of the trappings of this world. Yet I couldn't make it out unscathed. The world's in a sense a vortex, blending you up, shaking up you up, mixing you into its midst, even when you think you're cloistered from its streets of rage. But I've always been able to adapt. God helps me adapt. We can only hope in this instance that we can be agile, not fragile, hopeful, not regretful, and certainly we shall keep a discerning mind, one which'll tease out the meaningful bits and pieces present in our new surroundings. Listen to me, giving my own self a pep talk. You have got to do what you have got to do, or, in my case, I have got to do what I have got to do. Got to do right. Got to not be frightened of my own shadow when that sun crests from horizon to horizon. Got to waltz into tomorrow, scatting of the joys of undoubtedly having enough in this world, if not more than I could ever need in this life. The plan is to cook up a breakfast sandwich tomorrow morning, one with English muffin, Canadian bacon, cheese, and a perfectly seasoned fried egg. Then, I do declare: something along the lines of carpe diem will occur.