“To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.” ― Mary Oliver

I’m the type of person who feels deeply, I get it now. I’m affected by what I feel, too much, so much. To compensate for all the feelings, I bury myself in meaningless, repetitive, entertainment materials that offer no fulfillment, no real joy.

I used to think I had a handle on my feelings, mainly because I was never driven to lose myself in drugs, alcohol, and all those other ‘usual’ vices. I’ve always been, by practice and action, a good girl.

I’ve fallen into a hole of repetition, and stagnation. Yes, it can exist in one safe hole. It exists within me. Each time I refuse to think, and work, or concentrate my efforts on things I know can make me happy, or make my life easier… I bury myself deeper into my safe, warm hole.

My thoughts are present, but my body does things different. It prefers to be safe, and engages in repetitive actions that create a larger feeling of emptiness in me.

I feel empty, and miserable. But with all the distraction and entertainment life has to offer, I don’t often realize it. My world and attitude cooperated to create a cocoon of relative security and safety. Someone will figure it out, this miserable hiding place, and bury me with unearthed soil– a representation of unrealized dreams, scattered around the mouth of my hole-cave.

They will bury me, because I occupy a wonderful, rare, and unique space in the world. Each space on this earth deserves to be used. I’m doing no one justice, being who I am now. I bring no joy by indulging in meaningless, joyless pleasures of my own.


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