I feel about as mean as a snake right now.
I want to hit someone.
I don’t much care who.
Sick of everything. Sick to death of it.
Just my little portion of it.
I know the world is stuffed full of goddamn wonders. I know it takes a paltry, flinty soul to mewl about petty unhappiness in the face of all that conflagration of blessings.
I know it.
As I’m rolling downhill in a hand-built go-cart, the wheels threating to clatter off at any moment, I continue to be amazed at the grinding mindlessness of the big machine, and yet enchanted beyond all reckoning at the pretty lights it throws off all the while.
I love it in the abstract and specific, but not in the personal. Or the other way around, I’m never sure.
I am consumed by the mechanisms at work on all scales.
I don’t know why I am continually shocked at my own small problems and continue to labor under the illusion that they matter or have significance.
I should delete all of this.
Every word of it.
I want you to be happy.
I want the universe to shower you with blessings.
Which it is already doing without ceasing.