distracted and diffused

Ophelia
Tom Petty
Millerville market
reading week
Sunday mornings at Franscisco's
my sister


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I reread, from time to time, the things I have written here, and ask myself what I was trying to say.  I write about work, a lot, obviously.  I recognize that I am obsessed, to some degree, with my career.  I recognize, to some degree, that this is not a healthy thing.  And I also recognize that I don't want to do anything about it, not really.  I choose it - at least I choose it most of the time.  I also recognize my potential for burnout, and my nonsensical martyrdom as everyone else calls in sick and I march forward with bronchitis, as though there is some reward for this kind of behaviour other than getting to work more.  I also recognize, truly, that I am most happy on the island with the ocean and the otters and the quiet, but it is sometimes difficult to access the part of my soul that lets solitude seep in the way it should - silently and gently in my sleep.


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