And so the morning has come and it is already here. I sit and am seated and I prepare for the worst, but I don’t know if that is entirely true. I do know, however, that soon the use of the bathroom is required for there is a requirement for me to use the bathroom and soon that might overwhelm my every thought. Such is the way of needing to sue the bathroom, which is something that I need to do in order to keep on going, or something.

Today lays itself out in a patchwork map of both far too much detail and also not enough. It is a confusing, convoluted mess and I will find a way to navigate it.

Of course that also is not true, but I am going to pretend that it is as it makes things sound so much more dramatic than they actually are, and I’m here for the making things sound more dramatic than they actually are aspect of the thing that I am currently doing, which is writing about things that are as small as they are big. Or something.

So anyway, it is a pleasant and perhaps even pleasing day. It might even be a perfect day in the sense that it was here and then it will be behind me later. Of course there are other things out there that may challenge this notion, but I will not lend them any weight or credence. I don’t want to and I also don’t feel like wanting to. There are other things that I need to take care of on this particular day of days and that is navigating the day ahead, which I want to have appear convoluted, but also not have it be convoluted so that everything works out in the precise way that I want it to, even though I have absolutely no idea as to how I want the day to pan out.

Maybe there should be horses gallivanting about in the near vicinity, and some sort of melding sky so as to produce the sheen that is so craved by all who come near it and experience it, but never see, feel or hear it. Perhaps the ocean should sing songs about how it is and is not and whilst this all goes on a fantastic scene of dull fantasy plays out in the surrounds of this humble abode, and all is happy and joyous and there is no turning things around until they themselves choose to turn around.

Of course this might involve some sort of musical number and I’m not sure if that can be tolerated. However, all things considered, there might just be a necessity invoked in order to be able to continue on with the festivities. The fish will fly and the birds will sing and there will be colours not yet experienced and perhaps never experienced again. The grey of the scene will be washed away by the tides and all will be held accountable for engaging in their ability to celebrate. A gentle breeze will kiss the sky and all those around and, as the hair grows outward, there will be necessities experienced in only the finest of suits. The land will be free and all will celebrate in only the way that they can.

Eventually all will require sleep but an unraveling has occurred and so much feasting will be required, but all will push to rest, for feasting can come in the morning and it is less important than eating well in a way that implies eating well. Of course there will also be plenty of not eating well, but that is neither here nor there.

Well, I guess feasting can also be eating well, or done well, but that is not something I’m going to get into at the present moment as the only way forward is following the stretch and the swathe of throwing things together in the hopes that some of it makes a modicum of sense.

So anyway, eventually the unraveling will become far too grand, but all will celebrate and dance and the clouds will prolong a wistfulness as the grass sways in the breeze, and those who look upon it all will wonder as to what the point of it all was, but there will be action and in that action nodding toward the shining earth underneath the blotted sun may just lead to things that were once known as unknown and now remain firmly in the known.

All will become bright and glowing as the great melding will occur, but as it happens all that was and all that is will no longer be distinct, and all things will become as in the moment as they were against it, slowly twisting and distorting and becoming amorphous, but also seemingly not existing at all. It will be a most grand spectacle, but all will come and dance and the tides will lap at the shores and birds will do their thing, as will fish, and the animals of the land will find what they need to find in order to keep on going to whatever it is that they too are going toward.

Slowly, yet surely it will all be one and there will be no return, and there will be some sort of rest and that rest will feel earned, though perhaps not in the most traditional of ways, but sometimes that’s just how things happen and you’ve got to expect that these things happen in ways not always expected, but at least the rest will be good. It will be a deep, heavy sleep and there will be some sort of restfulness within that restfulness. It will be one greatly required and no one will pretend otherwise. It will be the rest of rests and it will beckon a new day as the sun rises.

However, until all of that, today must be gotten through.
It might be a while.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 11:49:83

Written this morning. Not sure why I didn’t share it earlier in the day.

I think that I wasn’t quite content with what was coming forward so I veered away from what I was writing and that led to whatever this is.

Written at home.