It’s never too late.

That’s not entirely true. Sometimes, it is too late. That’s why now is generally better. I’m almost never pleased post-procrastination.

I’m regretful of late. I want more from my life and my reality. I suspect I’m not alone.

I feel old and spent and used and tired. Some of it’s nature – I tend to the neurotically depressed and miserable – but some I think is also a consequence of the weird reality we’re currently inhabiting thanks to COVID: a reality that seems suddenly about to violent flux.

Flux is stressful, but I’m not averse to a brave new world, albeit not one built on Aldous Huxley lines.

Or perhaps (r)evolution is just wishful thinking.

By Em

I like writing. Words help me unpack my thoughts so things can start to make sense. Once I have both myself and the universe figured out, I plan to take up macrame. "Writing is an exploration. You start from nothing, and learn as you go." E. L. Doctorow

7 comments

Leave a Reply to Em Cancel reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.