Dragon Days

I'm gonna cut his hair again. I've watched about 10 videos (all a minute or so plus) and I'm ready to go all out with the progressive, semi-mod look. Will it be even? Will it even be? We shall see. I wonder if my modern punk dream will come true.

It's hard to think of reasons to be. It's hard to think even of how to be, or why. I'm still struggling with the idea of enjoying life. Calvin and Hobbes' bittersweet enunciations are increasingly ideas I can relate to. 

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What do you really want to be? What do you want to do in life, aspire to, will sacrifice for? My answer is nothing much. Passivity is my snare. I find little joys- my sewing, music making, painting, my sweet loving, my being saintly loved. They are all to some small degree refreshing. But nothing empassions me. I am not shocked, hungered, engorged, inflammed. I am inspired, comment-ful, the watcher-onlooker of life. I live it some, much of it passes me by.

What would it be like to be constantly enamoured by some aspect of life? What does God think about enjoying life, about getting married, about living the little mundane bits? I don't want KPIs for these things. I want to know what He really thinks.

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I am drinking the last of the lambrusco. It is a sweet with a dry edge, and it reminds me of the more simple, senseless conversations I have had over wine. Choya and DOM undo me altogether and I become sleepy very quickly. I much prefer these (and fortified shiraz) to the pretentious Merlots.

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Some days it looks better. For the most part, they follow the same rise and fall of petrol prices, but at a staggered timing. Friday evenings are marked by serotonin highs, followed by lucious Saturdays and slightly sordid sundays (reserved for pooing about monday). Mondays the blues peak, followed by stoic acceptance lasting throughout the week (fine and steady, a-haul) till Sunday.

I try not to fear. Rarr.

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