March 1, 2013
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Sleep, not rest
Sitting on the couch, having finished The Fall section of American Pastoral, I started thinking about things. But I also grew drowsy. I was slumped with my feet on the coffee table. I knew I should move on to bed. I have gotten used to death, I thought. Death being hopeless thoughts, death being not being able to finish things. For I was going to bed with a familiar theme in my heart: I had not finished the day; the day had finished me.
Comments (3)
I’m slap happy. I had an eventful evening. I know the second I relax, something bad will happen.
I’m limited in ability at the moment.
I’m always fighting my inside-outside problem, and I wish psychotronic warfare could make that stop. I’m so sick of responding to cues. It’s like, “There’s death again.”
Back to my cursed luck, they aren’t even decent over here. I would have parked there again. They went around twice to the same spot in odd cars. I would have made me run out and then I would have had a clear shot. I’m not that stupid, but they don’t even think. People don’t think when they panic.
c’estla vie
I think it may just be that you are living life to the fullest, and you’re empty for the moment. Maybe a weekend away to re-energize..?