Me Day

It's funny how a little distance can go a long way when it comes to dealing with the crappola that life sometimes throws our way. This time last week I felt as if, each day, when I awoke, began a mourning that would cycle throughout the day (in a rather predictable (yet horrible and horrifying) manner) and "end" (so to speak) before I shut my eyes for the night. It became so predictable through my "vacation", in fact, that I began to wonder how long could it go on, and furthermore, how long could I possibly stand to feel feelings at a level 10 without checking out (or "checking in".) So it struck me to notice the vast difference in my feelings, regarding said crappola, upon my returning home. That is to say, my mourning has all but subsided and I, for one, am giving a big shout out to distance for this one.

Though the Catholic in me feels guilty for saying so, being away from the muck and the mire is sooooo much more appealing than the prospect of re-delivering myself to that environment. This, my dearies, gives me an entirely different pause. We have plans to move into the muck and the mire! How that is a good idea is out of my grasp at present.

I mean, how in the world could this mess be cleaned up?!?

silly grasshopper, questions have no answers

At what point do one's actions become their character? Are we to factor in "good" and "bad" deeds from our childhood, prepubescence, and adolescence to create such a picture? Can a long stream of "good" negate a blip of "bad"? What if it is more than a blip? What if it is a muddied puddle of good and bad intentions? Or a general lack of intentions whatever?

It seems silly and sick for me to ask questions to which there is no answer. What is good? Haha, that's a funny one! I've never been able to touch, taste, smell, or feel good, and yet the definition exists in the core of my being, in my knowiest of knowings. In my silence, the good is deafening.