30 minutes to kill, and there’s plenty to be doing. I deny it all; I prefer to write.
Can I get a minute of your time? It’s dreary outside; the temperature has dropped. I dunno why everyone hates this weather. Sunlight is too direct, too intrusive, too presumptive. It demands that I embrace it. It assumes that I want its drawn out bear-hug, its overt display of affection. As if I enjoyed squinting.
Give me a muggy, slow day. Give me a shield from the sun and its tyrannical love: a buffer between me and reality. It’s a familiar theme with me. But that’s not why I’m here.
I’m part of the great search. I’m here to bring myself high; to leave behind all things petty; to banish my shackles. I’m here to forget myself in the only way left to me: those other routes are permanently closed. How simple my decisions have become!
Don’t nag me with questions; I have no answers. I only offer statements. I give toothy declarations, quirky observations. I take away self-love. I mystify the mundane; I bequeath subtlety and imagination. Why don’t you come along for the ride?