i’m going cross-eyed from reading student papers. my back hurts from an ergonomically-incorrect desk set-up. my printer’s decided to stop printing. my head’s full of theory, so much so i can’t sustain a normal conversation.
ran a disk utility maintenance on my mental. memories being compressed for archiving, would prefer delete but don’t have the time to be out of commission for that process. 43 erase passes. but with the neat compression, space is being freed up, and a queue of tasks are getting worked through.
neglected relationships being recovered, re-examined, re-instated, more firmly this time. i won’t push you away again, this i promise.
three chances, always. i’ve fulfilled my own expectations, i can walk away at ease as others demand my arrention. i’m transfixed with these new colours that scratch away the gilt.
he couldn’t hear home in my voice. i heard the homesickness, longing in his. he pointed out degrees of being and entitlement. he took loss and melancholy and performed them in a tragedy of being caught up in false beliefs and destinies. is destiny a choice? rhetorical question. as much as complacency, i guess. there are things that i can’t be, don’t need to try to be. in the same vein i’ve stopped questioning this desert blood and its memory magnetism.
there are rituals i find solace in that result in alterations. this time (third go), i completed them automatically, had in fact begun them unconsciously. i support revision my body bears the proof.
my everyday’s consumed by the major endeavour. moments of doubt alternate with the certain knowledge that this is exactly where i want to be. like magic, reinforcers show up, special rewards for effort. pieces of my past keep on reaffirming my ideas of my future, and the collection of supportive gestures i have grows as i prepare to launch through hoop two of several to jump through. fingers crossed.
automaton building back on. external interest in another production. projects planned, out of my hands for implementation. the summer’s set aside for my heart’s work. a thank you love letter, artefacts. also, the beginning of a journey that i had once believed i was actually on.
here’s to transforming the potentielle into the actuelle.