I'm prone to long hiatuses in life. It's not just this blog as most might assume (since blogs can be quite arduous and pretentious to be regular with) but other things too, of varying enormity.
I often take breaks from the things I love, like writing or reading interesting stuff or people and talking to them or running around town or being happy.
I also take breaks from the things I passionately dislike, like washing my hair, or writing or reading interesting stuff or people and talking to them or running around town or being happy.
Sometimes I long for a nice holiday from life. I've wondered, utterly subconsciously, what that would like. The closest to it that we seem to have come to is the passenger spaceship on which Madonna has already booked her seat. But I don't think that quite categorizes as a holiday in my book. Sometimes I think dreams edge towards the ways in which I think of 'the' holiday but even that, really, is like the brightest of the illusions, so bright that it can trick you into believing that it's not exactly what it is - an illusion.
So great is this affection for hiatuses that I also tend to - thanks to my mind that doesn't quit ticking - wonder and question why I seem to gravitate towards them, even actively look for them, as I go about living my life, doing my thing.
I don't have an answer just yet but the more energy I put into looking at this tendency of mine, I realize that it's the only thing (so far) that makes me experience utter longing and genuine devotion. And for that maybe I'm grateful.
Because maybe, maybe, there's a chance for some kind of union?
I often take breaks from the things I love, like writing or reading interesting stuff or people and talking to them or running around town or being happy.
I also take breaks from the things I passionately dislike, like washing my hair, or writing or reading interesting stuff or people and talking to them or running around town or being happy.
Sometimes I long for a nice holiday from life. I've wondered, utterly subconsciously, what that would like. The closest to it that we seem to have come to is the passenger spaceship on which Madonna has already booked her seat. But I don't think that quite categorizes as a holiday in my book. Sometimes I think dreams edge towards the ways in which I think of 'the' holiday but even that, really, is like the brightest of the illusions, so bright that it can trick you into believing that it's not exactly what it is - an illusion.
So great is this affection for hiatuses that I also tend to - thanks to my mind that doesn't quit ticking - wonder and question why I seem to gravitate towards them, even actively look for them, as I go about living my life, doing my thing.
I don't have an answer just yet but the more energy I put into looking at this tendency of mine, I realize that it's the only thing (so far) that makes me experience utter longing and genuine devotion. And for that maybe I'm grateful.
Because maybe, maybe, there's a chance for some kind of union?
