that’s a bit of a relief.

at least to admit to myself that, as of this moment of my life, routine and the mundane dominate my waking hours.

complacency and comfort zones.

working blind. i have no idea where i’m heading. i don’t see the point of what i stress myself over every day.

i miss writing poems.

*sigh* 

bookmarks

in the same folder are my links to neil gaiman and the dream-king.

it cheers me up to read how unsatisfactory even a dream-king’s daily life can be.

neil simply inspires me and gives me hope. 

feeding frenzy

been knocking myself out to sleep with marathon episodes and drowning afterwards in the soundtracks. pushing myself to eke out even a meager paragraph. work is eating me alive again.

so i stuff my head with fictional memories and force my heart to remember by watching those episodes in fairy tale format. where the new person wins over history.

because i seem to have lost the capacity to feel intensity and rage. 

and because deep, deep, deep inside i know.

i am not at all perfectly happy.

(on the other hand, who’d want to be perfectly happy?  people like that die early.)

dear lifeglider

italics means fiction.

i’m stretching thought-muscles for a book. 

*grin back*