Skip to main content

Blow, March wind

Blow, and teach me of my insignificance
A small and resisting thing
Blow down all of my ego
For in its absence the other half of my brain returns

Oh, I am weary
But I hope that the wind and the birds around me now don't care about the things others think are so important
Weary and resisting thing that I am
I need to know that I am insignicant, and the other things are unsignicant
A hundred thousand tiny details to give me a hundred thousand tiny little pains that add up to one big pain
Others think these little pains are a part of science
Or do they, or do they even care
Hell, what do I know
I am not really a scientist, but I did sort of think that we based decisions in empiricism not
A hundred thousand tiny little details
I swear these little details are making me stupider

No, that is not quite what is bothering me
I feel sort of hunted and sort of cut down
I feel that a random blighted mind focuses malicious intent on me, then forgets about me for a few weeks,
Then remembers me again and focuses in again
And finds out everything I do wrong and points it out as unsparingly as possible
And I do not deny that I do make so many mistakes

I am in such unfocused, unrequited, unsatisfied dilemma.


Popular posts from this blog

Love oneself

I have found a new barometer by which to judge my actions, or rather, it is an involuntary barometer that is improving me perhaps without my say. For every weak thing I do or begin to do, I ask myself if I would admire myself for it. I have felt so critical of myself lately, so ugly, so awful, and out of it has sprung this quest to improve myself. I don't want to become a slave to style magazines; rather, I could not admire myself for doing that. At the same time, I want to look right and decent and keep from embarrassing myself. I feel like my hygeine is always falling short, just like the housework. Every time I turn around, there's hair where hair shouldn't be, there's stuff under my toenails, my tee shirts are shrinking up and showing my stomach; to say nothing of my wildly oxidizing jewelry, scuffed shoes, &c. I don't understand why I don't see anyone else with these problems! Do they spend all their time at home cleaning their jewelry and ironing their

Cocoa rose

My first cocoa rose bloomed today. There are many more buds opening up, and soon we will have some cuttings.

Then, they let Margot out.

Work is going to be really tough for the next month and a half. There is really no margin for error in the goal I have set. I will have to make and run at least one sample, sometimes two, every day. I am going to have to work overtime in the beginning just to leave myself a little room. Long ago I read this story about people who colonized Venus. The storms cleared, the sun shone, and plants grew only one day every hundred years. On the day the sun was to come out some children locked the nerd (I'm sure that would be me) in the closet, and after the day was over, they let her out. That is how I felt yesterday. I could only get a table far in Starbucks, so I didn't know what the weather was doing. I had planned to shop for my spring wardrobe and I did that very well. It took two hours, which is really a lot less than it would take in person, and the things I got were very much to my taste, but I stepped out into warmth, sunshine, and balmy air, and there was only an hour left in