Isn't it astonishing how you can make tiny choices that turn out to be incredibly, irretrievably stupid? You can make the same choice half a dozen times a day and choose the same answer every time, and it's normal, innocuous choice; and then you face it at just the wrong moment and it ruins you for a night. You suddenly go spiraling into a event horizon of collapsing sanity, a helix of half-dreamt psychosis, and you wonder what you could conceivably have been thinking, and how you're going to fix this the following morning, all the while knowing that you likely won't. One moment the workings of your mind are mundane and innocuous, and the next you find yourself on a train in tangent, and it pins you down and smothers you until you stave it off with a journal entry, wrathfully vague blog post, and some subpar poetry. Sometimes, I do not like choices. Sometimes, I do not like imagination. Sometimes, the word "wistful" and all it entails is the bane of my existence. I want to set something on fire and jump into it. Burn me away, just for a moment. Just for one hour. Let me sleep away time itself, and lose all I feel like I'm losing, even though I know I am losing nothing but time.
{This is keeping me sane, which vaguely astonishes me, considering my natural daylight propensities towards the banjo.}
We are human and we make mistakes, and often times we forget that we will make mistakes. Sometimes we feel like our mistakes cannot be reconciled, which is contradictory to our faith. And sometimes we also forget that we belong to a body of people who are thankfully wise enough not to judge us when we make such mistakes. And even at times it takes such people telling us that we are beautiful and capable for us to realize it.
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