gracias

. .. . .. .i feel thanks to you. you share and open my eyes. i asked about how to manage. i was told "group." i am not "group." i have found my support. i thank you and hope to help you in some way. .. . .. .

Was there a moon?

i used to fear staying up late at night, not out clubbing, but home, home sitting in front of a Google home page clicking "I am Feeling Lucky" until i could not stand it any longer, or opening a Word document and writing, and editing, and writing some more, and then deleting it all.

i would look at the clock as it passed my usual crash time, i would feel unhealthy, worry that tonight was a school night, and that i would pay for it in the morning, and i would look up again and see that some time, long or short, had passed, and i would dread the time when the sun would rise, and the cycle would start anew

do not anymore. no fear. pad around my living space. do the same as before. not worry about it. night is an extension of day. a time to let life pass. same demeanor as day. same outlook as day. after ten days i collapsed. i could not think. i could not see clearly. i pushed myself. it felt good. i was in control.

should i worry?

1:41

i have no reason to be here now.
i have no reason to be now.
i have no reason now.
i have no now.
now.

spheres

apogee reached, newtonian physics take over. reentry. smoother than anticipated, but reentry nonetheless. now the mundane overcomes, which i must strive to overlook; details that make me loose hope in life. "welcome back to our society rampant with wasteful practices," they clamor, as tereshkova-like i emerge from my capsule"

i have witnessed death, decay, destruction of such magnitude, those who have survived it, live in it still, would nourish on the moldiest of our scraps, quench with our most fetid sewer dregs, rejoice in a find from our worst landfill

disheartening as it is, i turn a blind eye; i must. i focus on my small sphere of influence, the small difference i can make in someones life, which in turn makes a difference, whether i actually see it or not, whether today or in another life, in mine

Charlotte and Jane

i cannot recall the last time i derived such pleasure from sensory input as of recent. hearing. Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre narrated by Josephine Bailey. the name fell into my lap somewhere, and it stayed with me for a while. i was not aware of her bibliography or biography.

tragic life her and her sisters lived--mine pales in comparison. i do not take solace in this fact. i cannot comprehend how a woman can endure such pain and create such splendor, yet i have always known there is beauty in darkness.

i am grateful to her for giving comfort, meaning, for i thirst for more as the day wanes languidly...