Thursday Evening Post: 6.2.22

     The trouble to remember.

     The trouble, to forget.

     The bouts with doubts of purpose. The self service sided to identify. The inconceivable whys.

     I thought earlier of how my current recollection of some past protagonist seemed to be desire driven. But I know upon further reflection that is not the truth. A compulsion drives me here, again and again. It may vary in direction, but only on the superficial level. I keep coming back because I feel I have to. Because the weights I place upon my own mind only find reprieve in so many places, with here being one of the primary locations. And whatever my wants are often appear to be forms of sedation. Something to dampen these impulses in order to meet some form of pacifier, to keep the march forward. To get to the next day, and the one beyond that. Ahead, to a number of days more than I’ve accumulated thus far. Hopefully, many more. Yet cosmically, only so very few.

     I owe some letters, but cower at the approach. I have projects in mind, some even with some skeletons lying about the head. But I sit upon some posture that an unforeseen catalyst is required. All that potential and I feel myself squandering hours. Not saying that is even a justified statement, just saying justification has not always inhibited me in the past. Rarely, perhaps, depending on the category.

     Yet I stew in creative atrophy, voiding myself of an influx of intellectual nutrients. Never you mind the spiritual ones. And not out of an absence of resource. There’d be more than enough for most, though my particular brand of Narcissus always seems to pine for that beyond palpation.

     And all that, of course, isn’t quite true either. But the truth is not required for belief. And although fleeting it often is, today seemed one of those days where the capture of my own held principles appeared damn near impossible. Could be the weather, but I know that only holds so much power.

     I cannot say such doldrums have even much been dealt with. It is the hope that the now becoming tomorrow holds enough force to press it back away. It usually does.

     In the meantime, I’ll squeeze what sustenance I can from this and the rest of what will soon be yesterday.

     An attempt has been made, of late, to partition ideas into category and clarity. There will always be the blurry beyond, until the yesterdays have all but overtaken the tomorrow. Those vague feelings of unspecific accomplishments to some day face. The ever off in the distance essence of my intuitions and compulsions. Those sort can only be dealt with after sifting.

     That said, there sits before me some more specified objectives. Perhaps the trouble is being that there never seems to be any less than three schemes which entice my active mind. (Never mind the obligations of my station in life, which I try not to grant much mental space, and even less in the soul).

     That being a minimum estimate, with the other end at times being much more absurd. The scatter of my mind can be simultaneously frightening and fascinating, which I’m sure at least someone reading this can relate. So, I’ll stick to about three. The traditional amount for juggling, after all. And for that circus act to be enacted in proper, I’ll have to keep all the objects moving.

     One, to the other. Then, the other. And the other, again.

     Best get to it. Let us return, soon. With the next being closer than the last.

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