Bookmark #943

I have not enjoyed writing lately, and it shows where it does, like the faux smile someone makes at a party they could not avoid. Perhaps to keep up appearances, under great obligation, or to be a civil person and nothing else. But then, even without words, the smile reveals everything. If not in the moment, then, I reckon in some sort of retrospective as people look at the pictures over coffee and an afternoon many days later. It has been like that, and I have been keeping up appearances in the most honest and the most necessary sense of it.

My distraction is immeasurable. I have been inundated by things to handle, big and small, and I believe it has impacted my health. Directly by inducing the exhaustion only known to those parched for peace and time, and indirectly by turning the few minutes I do have into moments I want to leave my head out of my body, and since this done literally would render me in a vegetative state, the next best thing is a glass of wine or the fifth order of whiskey at a bar without care about all else. They have collectively thrashed these words and their quality, and they have done this not in the way a hammer strikes a feeble wooden board but in how a tap which continues to drip on a piece of marble can prove lethal to it. And what has brought on all these things? Well, it has been a good cocktail—perfectly balanced. It has taken equal parts of myself and equal parts of life, and no, by no means is this a complaint. No, do not misunderstand me. Most, if not all, things are good, but we must work for all the good things, too, and it is the work, and not the general state of my life, that has exhausted me.

Sometimes, I sit and wonder if I could write someone a letter. When I say things, I find it is often jumbled up. It is difficult to talk to people, as I learned last night again, because they come with their caveats and puzzles. Then, I reckon I begin unpacking and solving them. A letter, however, would be ideal. I could bare my soul, and I could ensure all my thoughts followed each other, and I could take time. Yes, I could take time and craft a beautiful letter. I wish I could do that. But then, where would I find the time?

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