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purgative

Michael considered fate at 18:15   |   Permalink   |   Post a Comment

Sometimes writing is cathartic for me and I write and spill and spew.. more than most people want to see, most likely.. and then, as quick as it comes it is gone and

Sometimes writing is just a cramp and I sit and ache and squeam.. and somehow I imagine most people don't want to see that - probably less than the spewing, but this doesn't always leave as quickly as it comes so I apologize ahead of time for any lull or lolligagging going on here.

I spend too much time worrying about politics and not enough time just living the good life like the man upstairs must have intended - catholics and muslims and jews be damned. I spend too much time working and too much time worrying about not working and too much energy thinking I'm probably not doing good enough most of the time.

I spend too much time having the same conversations over and over again with the same people about the same things in the same mediums. Some people - patience is a virtue, folks, really - spend their life jumping at spoons... or however that utensil idiom goes.. I'm too patient right now to go look it up.

I spend too much time wondering if patience really is a virtue - if the man who waited two years ago for stock prices to go up is truly more virtuous now than he was with all that cash and I wonder if maybe sometimes you can't wait.

I spend too much time reading over what I wrote and worrying about hits and misses and counts and numbers. Always the numbers.

And, in the end...

I spend too much time repeating myself.

I spend too much time saying the same things over again.

I spend too much time reiterating that which I've said before.

But.. Today.. Here.. Lemme promise.

I will never ever here,

repeat myself

I won't spend too much time

repeating

myself

(not too much, anyway)