Today has been scattered. Do we always push through days with such bitter rhythm? I feel as though I’m spinning, going through a facade of day-to-day tasks—lather, rinse, repeat. Writing before sundown—am I in dangerous territory? It’s a Pandora’s box, as the universe is indifferent to our personal afflictions—I must stop expecting so much. One win is never enough—you must always lather, you must always rinse, you must always repeat.
Speaks to me today.