When you reveal yourself to me, then perhaps I'll trust you. And you're fucked if you think it'll work any other way.

This was one of those days where I ask myself why I actually choose to bother with most everything. Reality bursts the bubble of illusion, and perception dissipates, leaving an often bitter, rarely sweet, taste in your mouth. On the top of the list is introspection, and following it closely, exasperation.

Look, listen, laugh, lie....

Lie to those you love. Lie in bed. Lie awake, and ponder. A proverbial mental marathon, if you will. And at the end of it, are there medals? Is there fame? Do you get a pat on the back? Hardly.

This was one of those days where I ask myself why I actually choose to bother with most everything. Chances are fucking good you don't know what I'm talking about.

I like it better that way.

Life is good. Over the four days or so, I've just felt so centered, and I'm not entirely sure why. All the things that bother me, that have been bothering me, seem so miniscule and insignificant. And they are. In retrospect, they're all so unimportant. I'm the one that wrongly assigns them importance, and it's stupid of me. That's human nature for you though. Good old human nature.

This time tomorrow, I'll be on a train from Paris to Poitiers. I don't think life could be much better.