coldcomfort

Full time work is a craggy bear of lethargy and indifference, slowly gnawing off my hands. My head functions as usual; my eyes point wonderingly at everything and my voice comes vomiting up and lightning bolts of ideas shoot out of my brain and I make endless plans for wonderous things to do and create and complete. The lightning never gets anywhere... my hands are eaten off before the flashes reach the ends of my arms. My eyes are sliding closed and my voice grows pale with "how may I help you"s.

Limbos of working for short but very constant spurts to pay for the exciting adventures in between, though, is more desirable than steady streams of equal parts life and living. Oh, ugh, I obviously wasn't meant for the dreary lives society has decided. I dream of rolling down hillsides composing odes to visible bodies of very fine water droplets as I go; but too much of even that and my brain would eat itself for lack of sustenance from the world...

It's how I see having roots of any kind. Horrid! My life shall be intense, overflowing, practically drunk! and wildly varying; I will have lived everywhere, been everything, had everyone. So there, there there, it's okay, it will all be okay. I'm here [only for now].