excessive

I think I’ve just fallen out of like.

Filed under: daily grind

three weeks ago- and im still here.

This weekend has been an assemblage of everything that makes me feel dejected, discouraged and cheerless. The three-week marker- I’ve been back for three weeks without infecting people like a nasty vermin about my cause.
Here is where the whining threatens to overspill, but I think I shall just cap it, and scream. There. Now I feel like an empty vessel even more. All talk, no walk.

I want the whole world to support my decision, but I’ve received passive responses. I don’t have the time and the energy- to source for grants, write to corporations, boards, councils, meet up with friends and let them know what’s going on, update my blog and find publicity for my cause, get the help of friends to help put up an exhibition which for now seems like a most foolish idea. I am beginning to hate myself in this process. Where is the perservering spirit? So what if no one wants to help? So what if no one thinks they could? Can you?

Filed under: cringes, daily grind, heartaches

You might whisper to God

You can hold a conversation with your God anywhere. A serious conversation might even be possible on the first not-so-crowded evening train home. First you lower your head and walk into the cabin, ever so still. Then you walk towards a random person and the good Samaritan will stand up and allow you some peace and comfort while he stands most preposterously in front of you, parading his gentleman manners.

Anyhow. You might continue your conversation with God now. You clasp your hands and the folds of skin around your eyes gather. Your lips murmur and your spirit, if visible seems to hang on a beam. Nobody knows what hangs on the other side. You- the one who is the object of our scrutiny now, you belong in a column on the daily newspaper, the one which takes random shots of real people. Today, your headline would be, ‘Sad Bizarro.’ You enter what we call a prayer.

We wonder what you pray about.

You are in serious, serious conversation. It migt even be termed a conference, considering the situation.

Before he knows it, the self righteous good Samaritan looks up, and finds you gone. Where’s the lady gone? The bystanders shrug. Not that anyone has seen anyone on this evening journey home. No one ever does. The lady who muttered to herself? The one who looked distressed? No one registered her. The travesty.

The good Samaritan -who gave up his seat to an old and incoherent lady who spoke in low tones to everyone- begins to feel irritation.

His irritation reaches a boil. He marches to an empty seat. Clasps his hands, and joins the conversation with God.

Filed under: moronics, quirks, written word