It Profits Little That an Idle King....
I'm tired. I feel defeated and deflated. If I could just get some quiet, some peace and maybe some sleep I'd be better, but as I write this, I've been bothered three times, there are four people standing outside my cubicle, talking loudly and leaning on the walls and I still can't find the music I'm in the mood for. Oh, and I was up past midnight again last night.Besides that, the company I work for paid out part of our job completion bonuses and didn't put mine into RRSPs like they were supposed to. Now I've paid income tax on it, and I don't have the RRSP. But worse, I'm complaining about money!! I don't fucking care about RRSPs!! I could give a fuck about income tax!!!
Hmmmm. "How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use! As tho' to breathe were life!" Tennyson's "Ulysses" stirs me again. I could spend the rest of the afternoon reciting it over and over until people get annoyed....
Shut up, Trent. Fuck. What compels you to blather on and on, especially when you have nothing to say? At what point do you finally give up and be silent?
I don't. Even in this state I write and write, searching out my feelings until I find a familiar thread, a path to follow out of my low mood and get back to where I want to be. It's cathartic. Besides, this may be interesting at some point down the road.
4 Comments:
alway write. you're an artist. you have to write even if at first it seems like nonsense.
even if it's frustrating and you want to see if you an break the keyboard in half with your head?
I just don't think I'm making any sense today. I can't seem to express what I want to today, because I feel like a tornado. Dust and debris swirling in my head, in my soul.
so just express everything. stream of conscious writing.
Interesting idea. This could get scary...
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