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This morning I looked from the screen to the sky and, for one frightening moment, I could no longer tell them apart. All I could see was flickering white in front of me and flickering white through the window. The only difference I could see was that the one which was fractured by trees was bright enough to hurt my eyes. Then everything was fractured by tears.
There is nothing poetic about tears running down one's cheeks when their fall ends in a prosaic splash on a wood-effect desk. There is nothing romantic about fishing for tissues in a drawer full of teabags. Energy tea, detox tea; a collection of warm, comforting lies. Change your life with tea. Happiness is a steaming cup of ginseng, ginger, echinacea, redbush, flowering fad, organic bandwagon.
I'm hedging my bets today: alternating between the quasi-spiritual cleansing properties of herbal teas and the cheap comfort of sweets, doughnuts, and fizzy drinks. My body is not so much a temple as a racetrack, or perhaps a market.
In between drinking and eating, I watch words scroll past on IRC. Sometimes I even type some of them. Having other people to "talk" to is about the only thing that's keeping me faintly sane on a day-to-day, minute-to-minute basis; but according to a recently published flamme à clef by a local would-be author it's all just a game of Ego Stroking.
Alt-4. Alt-4. Shutting down applications one by one. They disappear like the days, the weeks, the months, the years. Time to start the daily journey into the dark.
There is nothing poetic about tears running down one's cheeks when their fall ends in a prosaic splash on a wood-effect desk. There is nothing romantic about fishing for tissues in a drawer full of teabags. Energy tea, detox tea; a collection of warm, comforting lies. Change your life with tea. Happiness is a steaming cup of ginseng, ginger, echinacea, redbush, flowering fad, organic bandwagon.
I'm hedging my bets today: alternating between the quasi-spiritual cleansing properties of herbal teas and the cheap comfort of sweets, doughnuts, and fizzy drinks. My body is not so much a temple as a racetrack, or perhaps a market.
In between drinking and eating, I watch words scroll past on IRC. Sometimes I even type some of them. Having other people to "talk" to is about the only thing that's keeping me faintly sane on a day-to-day, minute-to-minute basis; but according to a recently published flamme à clef by a local would-be author it's all just a game of Ego Stroking.
Alt-4. Alt-4. Shutting down applications one by one. They disappear like the days, the weeks, the months, the years. Time to start the daily journey into the dark.
