A to-do list is tinnitus. From the start of March to mid-May I’m uncommonly on the go, getting all the ducks in a marching row.
When I work, work. When I rest, completely rest so neither saps energy from the other. Not being organized wastes time. Time is the only thing we have a chance of owning in this world. And it flashes past. What next? What next? What?
I recall saying that to someone at a party —how many years ago now— and she gave back withering derisive contempt. It completely broke pattern from the bland explorations and mild conversation that came before. “You never asked it, it’s not a matter of forgotten.” She bit off each word as if it were bitter with a nostril curl.
It was that bristle some people get who go nuts at you if you can “could you pass” instead of “may I have” and give a haughty lecture of how uncivilized you are and that there is a difference, a difference I tell you. I didn’t seek to retain her name after that, hoping to retain the face to brake and avoid for life.
Plant life are so much more beautiful. People can be beautiful but when livid and spiking such emotional energy…ach. The irony of outrage of being about being considerate. Ah, letting it go can happen after you admit it happened.
Am I the monk still carrying the maiden? Ah probably.