Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Medicate the Penguin

Waiting for the dinner hour always has a tinge of sadness for me. One of the reasons is that I have to come back after said dinner. Of course, sadness seems to be the engine that fires my synapses. I could use a memory purge, and dispose of that dark, dank depressing past of mine. Feeling alone in a crowded universe has always been my problem. No matter how much I may click with someone, there is always some part of me that remains understood. Some part that I have to keep under wraps. Same old me, different day. No time for living. What's that line The Shawshank Redemption? "Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying." But why does the majority of living have to be about debt and stress? Tension and chaos? Even I know better, which is why my dream since I was sixteen has been to live in a log cabin in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness, but there must have been some integral genes missing from my being, fore I have not even done an Alaskan cruise yet. My days of roughing it in the wilderness are over. But I still pine (pun intended) for the woods, and the solace of the outdoors. Nature will always be my emotional salve, no matter where I reside.

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