Nov 18 working note
I've been waiting for success to complete me. Again with my business ideas and my research and my audience.
I've been waiting for success to complete me.
With the compulsion of a tourist wondering if this image before them should be on Instagram, I've been grasping my ideas. Hoping to craft them and float them before you. To win your subtle praise.
There is a small but significant shift in register when I write, imagining your eyes on my writing.
Once I have enough money, enough influence, enough writing. Perhaps then I can feel complete.
Do I have to destroy this? Can I adore this little hobgoblin of mind? Like a jealous puppy, or my insistent cousin?
I don't believe in violent dislocation. The expectation of that is part of me and I cannot cut it away any more than a knife can cut itself.
Is my self a problem?
I look again, and it's not a hobgoblin, but a reflection in a lake. Turning around, I see the flagrant violets blushing beneath a willow tree. I smell the fresh pellets of goose manure and glimpse a flock drifting overhead.
I have paused digging, but there is no longer a hole. Apparently, I was digging water from a spring, replenished immediately by the subterranean current.
Taking a seat on the nearby rock, I weigh my options. If there's nowhere more to dig, I could find my another hole, or I could lay in the sun.
Wiping my sweat from my brow, I think I would rather enjoy the sun rays on my eyelids. It is a beautiful day today.
