I've been too much inside my own head lately. I retreat there when reality displeases me, but I have never found the inside of my head to be entirely congenial. When there, I soon grow impatient for the world to settle back into a state in which I can feel comfortable. Currently, my detachment is aggravating my anxiety as I wander aimless amid the abstractions my brain endlessly produces. In short, I am sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought. I don't like being like Hamlet. I don't much like Hamlet. Hamlet was a bit of an ass. I find myself much easier to live with when I am out smelling the grass and feeling the bark of trees and listening to the wind in the pine needles. I want to stand in the rain until I am soaked, and then go in and drink hot tea flavored with clove and cinnamon. I want fall's winds to blow away the dust which has settled over my consciousness. But the air is still, and I am drawn back to the world of thought, leaving my unstimulated senses bereft, as useless as a nun's dugs.
Dry Days
I've been too much inside my own head lately. I retreat there when reality displeases me, but I have never found the inside of my head to be entirely congenial. When there, I soon grow impatient for the world to settle back into a state in which I can feel comfortable. Currently, my detachment is aggravating my anxiety as I wander aimless amid the abstractions my brain endlessly produces. In short, I am sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought. I don't like being like Hamlet. I don't much like Hamlet. Hamlet was a bit of an ass. I find myself much easier to live with when I am out smelling the grass and feeling the bark of trees and listening to the wind in the pine needles. I want to stand in the rain until I am soaked, and then go in and drink hot tea flavored with clove and cinnamon. I want fall's winds to blow away the dust which has settled over my consciousness. But the air is still, and I am drawn back to the world of thought, leaving my unstimulated senses bereft, as useless as a nun's dugs.
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Reset Sixteen, Day Forty-One
Sunday was so balmy that I had the windows open and the fan on for about three afternoon hours. I'd have done it earlier, but I didn't wake up until…
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Reset Sixteen, Day Forty
I've tried to remember Saturday, but it's all fuzzy. I think I ate something with cheese in it. Eating something with cheese has nothing to do with…
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Reset Sixteen, Day Thirty-Nine
The predicted high temperature for Sunday keeps inching up. Today's forecast has it at 75. It's the middle day of a three-day spring, all three days…
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