All great truths begin as blasphemies.
George Bernard Shaw
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There is nothing to read here. The content is over there, to your right.
I may, however, at some point, put something here. Some day. Eventually. No pressure.
location location location
This is where I am, right now:
This is where I want to be, right now:
(neither of these photos are mine - if they're yours, lemme know so I can credit them)
I'm feeling crowded, claustrophobic. People and things, stuff are all too close; can't draw a breath without brushing against something. I think I need unobstructed views of nothing. An uninterrupted horizon. Seeing where I'm going, literally/metaphorically - take your pick.
Tried going for a walk - I know this mood, this state of mind, too well to let it fester - but it didn't help much. That may have depressed me more, really. Spring may not be my favourite season but I adore tramping through mud, getting filthy and gods know the forest trails are nothing but.
Still. I didn't enjoy it. Came back to the house to mope, to ignore the soaking dishes and cluttered counters (things get a little dirty when I get a little blue) for a while longer. Spring cleaning is on hiatus. Most everything is on hiatus, come to think of it.
Except sex - the sex has been hot. Frustration (irony? irony.) and aggravation manifest well between the sheets.
This is where I want to be, right now:
(neither of these photos are mine - if they're yours, lemme know so I can credit them)
I'm feeling crowded, claustrophobic. People and things, stuff are all too close; can't draw a breath without brushing against something. I think I need unobstructed views of nothing. An uninterrupted horizon. Seeing where I'm going, literally/metaphorically - take your pick.
Tried going for a walk - I know this mood, this state of mind, too well to let it fester - but it didn't help much. That may have depressed me more, really. Spring may not be my favourite season but I adore tramping through mud, getting filthy and gods know the forest trails are nothing but.
Still. I didn't enjoy it. Came back to the house to mope, to ignore the soaking dishes and cluttered counters (things get a little dirty when I get a little blue) for a while longer. Spring cleaning is on hiatus. Most everything is on hiatus, come to think of it.
Except sex - the sex has been hot. Frustration (irony? irony.) and aggravation manifest well between the sheets.
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