Sometimes when I'm very tired, maybe even a bit too weary, my filters thin and thoughts get "qwerkier" and musings begin to get "musier". Some might say that's a good thing...that's when the barrier to truths are thinnest. Hmm. That's where I feel I am right now.
I wonder if truly, I meant "truly-ooley", cross my heart and hope to die, we really can change the world if we change ourselves, our way of thinking? I know it all begins with me. And with you and with all the you's who are "I's" seeing the world as we do. Perhaps if we all just stop and change our preception...things would change. I wonder.
I have this vision of myself in a small cottage in the woods, probably in New England somewhere, maybe near Walden Pond or Concord, writing, writing, writing ala Thoreau and Emerson and Emily. I remember when I visited that area years ago. It was as if I was home. Authors' Row where they are buried. I could see myself there, especially in the fall when the leaves are burning with crimson and gold.
There is nothing like the crunch of a good cracker or chip, the salty taste on your tongue. And there is also no other thing can compare to soft, melty ice cream or gelato sliding deliciously down in vanilla or chocolate or salted caramel flavors. Trouble is, the comfort can be addicting and that can lead to ill-fitting clothes and diabetes. All things in moderation...even comfort.
I am thinking I should get myself to bed forthwith. Anon! Anon! To sleep, perchance to dream. Drifting along in the arms of morpheus. Some things are best slept off. With luck, the answers are revealed with the light of the new day.
I wonder if truly, I meant "truly-ooley", cross my heart and hope to die, we really can change the world if we change ourselves, our way of thinking? I know it all begins with me. And with you and with all the you's who are "I's" seeing the world as we do. Perhaps if we all just stop and change our preception...things would change. I wonder.
I have this vision of myself in a small cottage in the woods, probably in New England somewhere, maybe near Walden Pond or Concord, writing, writing, writing ala Thoreau and Emerson and Emily. I remember when I visited that area years ago. It was as if I was home. Authors' Row where they are buried. I could see myself there, especially in the fall when the leaves are burning with crimson and gold.
There is nothing like the crunch of a good cracker or chip, the salty taste on your tongue. And there is also no other thing can compare to soft, melty ice cream or gelato sliding deliciously down in vanilla or chocolate or salted caramel flavors. Trouble is, the comfort can be addicting and that can lead to ill-fitting clothes and diabetes. All things in moderation...even comfort.
I am thinking I should get myself to bed forthwith. Anon! Anon! To sleep, perchance to dream. Drifting along in the arms of morpheus. Some things are best slept off. With luck, the answers are revealed with the light of the new day.
