The future looks bleak as it so often does. It’s the story that continues to reveal itself in my head. I’ve made leaps, good ones, and I’ve found myself in a good position, with people I care for, who care for me. I’ve taken myself out of an environment that is poisonous, full of people craving more, but never doing a thing about it. Always talk, talk, talk. Talk is not enough. You need to know when to put a hand down. You need to know when to talk down to the big guns.
It is 7:05 on a Tuesday night. Today, I slept until noon. I responded to important e-mails. I made important calls. I went for a run, which, in my opinion, was just as important as any of those things. I applied to a few more jobs. I fed my dog. I thought about sitting down to write, and not in my blog.
I meditated in the morning, fixated on a yellow and purple candle. Thinking on the ocean, and envisioning a world within, where doors may open. I don’t see jewels, I see flowers. Purple, and blue, and orange. Yellow, pink. Daisies, Lilies, Peonies, Poppies.
I have yet to see any trees, which is curious. I love trees.
Today was a good day. Yet, the story keeps retelling itself.
Don’t buy into it, my internal self says.
But what is the right choice? Is it this? Is it something else?
Choice drowns me.
Choice mixed with survival?
We need choice. I fight for choice, dream for choice.
Yet, I’m choking.