Thursday, April 16, 2009

I'm stuck on the Rotor, that carnival ride where you stand against the walls and it spins you around until the floor drops out from underneath you. The pressure forces you against the wall, but you still slowly slip down even so. And if you look up, everything is a blur and will make you either dizzy, or sick (or both).
So I just keep looking at what's directly in front of me, because I don't know how long this ride is going to last, or how far I'm going to slip down.

I would say that I'm jaded, but for one to be jaded, one must first have some hope to be jaded from. I'm a little past that.

The comfort is either missing or imperceptible to me half the time. At the moment, since hope is conspicuously absent, I've abandoned that search. Not that finding comfort is much better. Comfort is fickle, and fleeting, and often transparent if found at all.

I can't seem to rewire the instrument panel so that it functions the way it should. As soon as one connection is made, another shorts out. I'm tired of tinkering with tools to try and fix something that apparently wants to stay broken. Can't see well enough to fix it anyhow.

So, comfort is the goal. A shallow goal, but at least a goal.
If safety is absent outside the shell, then the best place to go is in where the sticks aren't poking the sensitive parts.

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