I forgot how to spell that shit honestly. Do we make time for what we want really? I'm here writing at 2:50 am after nodding off on overtime a few hours ago. Shhh.
I'm drowning in work and sad about less movie nights, board games and adventures because I'm happily employed. I'm happily employed. Thankfully on overtime. Amazed at my energy levels these days. Thankful for my practice. Up at 2:52 am on Friday morning writing in a blog. A creative portfolio, what's that? Lectured about my lack of patience while those I service are working on the same. Drowning in emails and tasks and happily so. Right now purpose feels like great responsibilities fit into part time hours pulled out of the folds of the dark time hours. Shifts in dream time if my REM is heavy enough. Who is supposed to show patience? My team or my family? My friends or my customers? I'm writing at 2:57 am because my heart is pulling for someone who left me hanging, I'm writing because my spirit says this is what I'm required to do. And so I figure I write in abstract form, a way to say, I had love that brought me life, colors more vivid, taste most sweet, I miss the feeling. And addictive tendencies with no thing to attribute peep out in the times when I'm incredibly busy. I don't actually like to drink coffee, I miss a love and I'm craving again. It's 3:02 am and can't say more because I'm logging back in and the way that my life is set up currently blocks out the person that I really miss.
Does any of this sound familiar to you?