"breathe, he told me
and I did
but in a very different way than I'd meant to
an air filled me
both stale and fresh"
[Me, "a 30 second poem"]

I've not written in a couple of months. I was very busy. I didn't make the time. Much of what I had to say was things I didn't feel like expressing. Nothing much has changed since I last wrote. Until perhaps today.
I almost never use incomplete sentences any more. I just did. Break the chains that bind us.
And I don't know, or expect, that tomorrow will be much different than yesterday, but today was a little different, and I was inspired to write, so here I sit.

I've been very stressed of late, and entirely unnecessarily. A lot of it is work-related. A lot of it is EQ-related. And some of it is social-life (or lack thereof) or romantic-life (or lack thereof) related. None of it should bother me like it has. None of it is worth lying awake or waking up to think about. And yet, in spite of all that, I've not slept more than about 6 hours in any given night for over 2 months. I've averaged about 5 hours a night.

Today, when at long last, I expressed to a friend my dilemma, his advice to me was very straight-forward, very simple. Breathe. He reminded me that all is far from lost, that I'm far from lost, and that all I really needed was to cut myself a break, take a step back, and breathe.

I did. I didn't step back and breathe in the way I meant to, but rather indulged myself in a way that, to be honest, I'm not entirely sure was healthy. But time will tell, and opening doors is far more productive than leaving them closed at any rate. If nothing, I settled some curiosities, though I did give credence to others I should probably ignore. But life is full of infinite possibilities, and far too often we paint ourselves into corners - emotionally, spiritually - that we have trouble finding our way out of. I have. And I want out. And I want out now.

But for all my emotional-dormancy these past few months, I think myself now not so much 'dead', as 'waiting'. I'm a coiled spring, or a hard-packed charge. I'm waiting for that spark that will once again ignite my passion so that I can explode forward with a lust for life. And in the meantime, my afternoon's indulgence with an old muse served at least to remind me that people do exist who challenge and excite me in a way that day-to-day life doesn't, and I need only find the next (and hopefully final) such muse. And for her part, I hope she finds hers.

For mine, I'm not sure where she lurks, but it's good to at least feel I have it in me to recognize and appreciate it when it comes. That's something I've not felt in some time, really. The longing, yes. The readiness, no.

I did, however, fuck the dog for a while this afternoon, and as such, have fallen behind in my work. I'll endeavour to catch up tomorrow, and may even work this evening or Friday evening, or perhaps on the weekend, if that's what it takes. I seem to have developed a better work ethic these past few months than in the past. I'm perilously close to becoming a moral person. I should go shoot tequila and deflower a few virgins just to set myself back off the straight and narrow. Terribly boring place, that straight and narrow.

What I think I need to get myself is a good escape, perhaps even a good sexual escapade. I could do with a nice romp, with someone vibrant and adventurous. Some light-hearted fun. Then, with the taste of... life.. fresh in my mouth, perhaps I can forge my way forward. And if I'm really lucky, somewhere along the way I'll find my travelling companion.

Perhaps it's time to think outside the box a little, and explore a couple of intriguing possibilities that lie nearby. Which is the stale air, and which is the fresh? That, perhaps, is the question that needs answering.

...?

There is no objective existence. Form and name are one in the same. We are what we decide to be, and so are our relationships.

I should either stop reading "The parallel sayings of Einstein and Buddha", or else finish the book and give it back.

...?

Could I be any more cryptic? Enjoy. Chuang Tzu was a nimrod, but he had a way about him. And hey... breathe. (Oh, and if I stop breathing, someone please remind me again.)