Bored of all that goes around in my fishbowl... Yet annoyingly aware that there are so many things that do not meet my expectations, that are not options to experience...
And the warm smell of someone's stew comes through the slightly opened door - the condominium life, with its smells and noises...
Seems like the feeling of hitting a wall doesn't get tired of itself or of me and is not leaving the premises.
I do not like or get Instagram - it's like my thoughts trying to embellish a very dry reality (a dance danced so many times in my head), while knowing that I must make it more presentable, since there are so many people and places worst that this. And the real thing keeps breaking through with the gray-er waves, with the colder breezes or the hotter summer days...
The stew is probably no good at all. Just its smell, creeping down the halls, Intagrams it for my nostrils.
Happiness could be a break from the given scenery of life. While being with friends or working to make a difference, while keeping the mind busy with all kinds of distractions... Not looking back or ahead, not questioning the world...
Trying to shake off words like potential, profit, opportunity, chance, useful, productive, asses, provide, function, schedule, success, and their long-oh, so long-list of similar notions that have wrapped the world in their emptiness.
I am happy to just be. And my work - every bit of bit of time - is to convince myself of this without many real feedbacks from the outside. In a circular nonsense, "being" must mean "having a purpose", even if sometimes so shy it remains unseen.
