The question for me lately is one of strength. It's gone elsewhere, or I have, and in its absence I've been mutely considering how much time is wasted waiting for its return, and how to make use of the frustration I'm left holding like a wet book of matches. I locate my own worth in work, and more specifically in working with words, in what the mind can hope to do; the issue at hand is that the mind is dependant on the body for its subsistence.
I've always struggled with the reality of inhabiting a body. I'm certain there are people who live their lives without ever seeing this as a problem, but once you've made that distinction and seen the two as mutually exclusive entities, once a divide has been located and one half found superior, I don't think there's much chance of reuniting them. And when the body fails, the mind bound to it tends to follow.
That's where I am right now; right now, I'm an empty set. I also happen to be a child of the 90s, and our default emotion is rage, accompanied by a large helping of self-sabotage and an excruciating awareness of our own inadequacy.
The question, again, is one of finding a use for this. I'm working on that. Nothing is so honest as the body and its demands, unless it is a mind that realizes those demands must be met.
There will be a short intermission, and then we'll return to the program, already in progress.
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