Just wondering about the point of all this – the bureaucratic paperwork, unraveling relationships, being reasonable and creating meaning out of mundane repetition.
I think about train stations that smell like piss and an old man I once saw shopping for rosaries at the Salvation Army.
Yesterday I was content making tiny pumpkin books and apple “brownies” and playing Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary among the dirt and flowerpots.
Today I feel empty. I’m a nihilist poseur, a label that means nothing because nothing has any meaning.
I am familiar with this feeling, though I do not understand it. What’s needed is a slice of late afternoon sunlight. It’s not a remedy. It’s magic.