So easily derailed am I.
Or rather--how much do I rely on the external for fulfillment.
When will I be enough?
When will the silence be soothing?
When will alone not be lonely?
I'm in awe of anyone who doesn't own a television.
Or doesn't use the internet.
They must be such productive people.
Or awash in so much connection
so many fulfilling encounters
that they need the home-grown space to breathe.
How is it that I make friends everywhere
and keep them nowhere.
Is it really Friday? Am I really here again?
It has been four days and three quarters
that I've managed to just be with things
with every thing
Every Fucking Thing that has arisen.
But I haven't been alone a single evening
Except tonight.
So let's just see how that goes--shall we?
These thoughts were written while treating myself to dinner at my favorite (organic live vegan kosher) restaurant. Beside me sat a woman who drank only her own bottled water and insisted on eating with plastic cutlery, which she first washed in a glass. Strangely, she didn't seem bothered by either the bowl her soup was served in or her date eating with the metal utensils and dipping into the same food as she.
Germaphobes kind of astound me. If only they realized how filthy life really is. Do they have any idea how many spiders they will unknowingly ingest in their lifetimes? It's insane to think we can sterilize and antibacterialize the planet. It does us more harm than good you OCDers.
And another topic shift: Some people really show up. Some people really don't. Some people kind of sort of look like they show up--but really they're absent. Some people manage to show up without even being there. I hope one day it won't matter to me one shit whether any of them do anything because I won't need them at all. They'll be icing on the cake, but the cake will be moist enough to do without.
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