Rote

I couldn’t give my life away.

It has slid once again into a pattern so utterly predictable that I can tell what time it is simply by what I happen to be doing at even given moment.

Even the few glimmers that might have been bright spots early on are fading for me. Just more responsibility and expectations.

Where is the fun?

Where is the desire?

Where is the intellectual stimulation and exchange?

Where is the variety, the break with grind?

I cast my net wide into the roiling waters of my new life and still mostly bring up old tires and algae.

I am not happy.

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