Following the stagnation felt I’ve cut out a lot of things that don’t change much.
For example, I used to go on forums. And I quit that for awhile before, but didn’t excavate it entirely.
Some would say that sharing these intents would make them break, but who knows.
The only troubles left are the excess minutes.
Although I’ve churned out approximately ~10 posts within the last two days to deal with these excess minutes, it’s not necessarily that fulfilling. Quarter-inches in terms of profit gained – thoughts to carry – but only quarter-inches.
It feels like making a tomb. But I’m not even sure what my death sentence is – or rather, life sentence.
There’s a rough outline at least.
Reading more, I suppose. Do I write about what I read? I suppose that may be a smart idea, will put it in the backlog.
Walking around I heard as a far-cry some speakers with romantic lyrics. It came across as crude – maybe because it’s boring. Most love songs slither right between infatuation and the morning after. It comes with its own amnesia.
I don’t know. Seems like there are only so many things you can write about another person in the fugue of ‘love’ before it becomes boring.
It’s impressive to talk about another person – namely, their qualities rather than their work – for hours on end. And worry unnecessarily about every action as though they’ll be cracked with enough analysis.
Some would call this indifference heartless, but I think it’s a form of freedom. Most romantics seem to be hanging off a cliff constantly.
Their level of astonishment is something to desire though!