a phone call at midnight

the storyteller || sixth and main

yesterday i sat at my desk with a bowl full of blueberries and ate them by the handful. i hope my patients didn't mind. no one said anything. perhaps by now they expect such things from me.

life is so full of STUFF: unopened mail to be addressed, magazines to be read, beds to be made, devices to be charged, food to be eaten (appetites to be satisfied), rooms to be reserved. and sometimes all this STUFF overwhelms me. it is never-ending. it is like the tide, the moon pulling forces of responsibility, obligation, currency. does any of it matter?

sometimes the start of sadness is a night at home, alone.
sometimes the salve for all wounds is a night at home, alone.