reading. I am still not finished with mandela’s long walk to freedom; it has been about two months or less since I purchased it. it’s a slightly difficult read. I am chipping away at the book, slowly. a couple of pages per night before my eyes start to close uncontrollably. these days, I am not capable of finishing a book or a movie. I fall asleep in the middle of it, entirely gone.
passing time. time outside of work passes slowly. I spend my days off cleaning up the apartment. the boy and I have our own chores to do and one is resting whilst the other is doing their part. we’ve been spending more time together, but not like before. keeping us alive is hard work. each of us is an individual on their own, with their own lives and history. there is past. but last two years, our lives have merged into one. it is not easy keeping experiences fresh. staying away from boredom and routine.
writing. oh, I wish. but the past month has been busier than any of the previous ones. in fact, I might have taken up too much work. but never before have I been so sure that I am on the right path. I have watched and rewatched and watched again ira glass’ inspirational injection more times than I can remember. his words are echoing in my mind for hours.
sleeping. I have been sleeping a lot. relatively. once a week I interrupt my peaceful life with a comeback at six o’clock in the morning, then I stumble to work three hours later, insane. after I sleep for three days like a good girl. then again. mostly it’s the bird’s fault. it’s always the bird’s fault. it’s another era; yardbird, peel street, brickhouse. I am not writing about my nights like I used to, but perhaps, I should. otherwise I would not remember a thing from 2011.