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Blog : The second burthen of a former child
Posted on 2016/11/19 15:51:02




Time marches on. The mighty crossroads before me doesn’t actually reveal which path I am to take. I keep getting closer and closer, yet one way is not more obvious than the other. This becomes a much bigger question. Who am I? Who do I want to become? Lately, big questions permeate every breath, every moment.

I have not had that rarest of commodoties, the one money cannot buy which is time. Sadly, the necessity of money is why I have not the time to focus as I would like. There has been no art, no pleasure in the arts, and little other than the menial daily tasks.


Even those tedious things are not as well accomplished as I would prefer. I want to clean and rearrange my edit suite at home. I also want to clean my bedroom thoroughly, an additional sign of the apocalypse (or maturity, which can also be construed as such). Tomorrow, I will endeavor to just hunker down and do a list of things I need for domesticity sake.


There is still two projects I want to get done in the now fleeting 2016. It seems unlikely these will get done in time. I’m not sad or even very frustrated. Mayhap, I have matured and do not succumb so easily to anger or impulse. Or perhaps I have lost some of the fire that burns inside. Or I am numbing to life as a whole. Am I? I have had many emotions of late. Losing my brother brought an onslaught of feelings, both new and old. I am so afraid I am losing my ability to feel anything too deeply has me worried about my own mental and emotional health.


And then I am overcome with a calm, a sense of serenity. I know not the source. I am unconcerned with unraveling this peace I feel inside. I just swim in the sweet waters of contentment without judgement.


I feel like I am exactly where I am supposed to be, doing exactly what I should be doing.




”White page, an empty field of snow
My room is twenty-five below
This cold man chasing ghosts
A road lies underneath a buried boat
Dogs search the under forest
We scour the empty streets
The fact remains until we find you
Our lives are incomplete”
- Sting



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