Of sore muscles and tireless bones


Drunk.  Picture me on the couch; my body, burden by the weight of nothingness, sinks on the pliant couch.  My head is constantly swimming in thoughts… What will I do next?  Should I eat?  Should I read?  Should I play Penguin Diner?  Or FB?

These thoughts have been drowning  the noise my anxieties make.  It screams of freedom — the amusing, never-fleeting liberty of the unemployed.  I could think of different ways to amuse myself; and I could actually do it.

But I don’t.

And that makes all the difference.



Like a broken record, my system spins back to repeat the trusted routine.  Eat; Sleep; Apply.  I’ve been doing it, like for the nth time.  Okay, that’s just an acceptable slip of exaggeration.  Two weeks.  I’ve been on it for two weeks straight.  It’s an obvious variation from the popular book, Eat, Pray, Love.

Oh well…



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