Path? What Path? There’s A Path? Wtf!

Yes. Yes it would.

But I need to ease back into it, right?

Why?

If I just eat healthy today, there’s always tomorrow, right?

Just stop.

I had such a great weekend. I walked a lot. I mean, I got 10,000 steps Saturday.

And the universe told me a story of Odin. Of a time when he was hungry for knowledge, lost in frustration, craving answers, reasons for the confusion. He was angry, burning with impatience.

She was such a fascinating human. She knew so much about everything that interests me. I admire her a lot. I feel like she got taken advantage of by some really awful people who convinced her of some awful shit, just to fuck with her. Some of the things she said really were off the deep end insane. But what do I know? Maybe I’m insane for not buying into it. She was remarkably brilliant in other areas, so it stands to reason that she could be brilliant across the board.

Candid shot of my little nameless friend. He hasn’t said anything since I brought him down. I suppose it’s the principle of the thing that matters. If he ever said anything at all.

I don’t want to go to work. I’m so comfortable. Just sitting. Staring. Watching candles flicker. Watching smoke from the incense dance.

Coco’s on my lap purring her little heart out.

It says, “ I will give you all knowledge. You will understand the breadth and depth of existence. You will have power and wisdom beyond compare.”

I shudder with love and amazement. I can’t believe it. I feel unstoppable. Giddy and more excited than I’ve ever felt.

4:30. A schedule. Disappointingly unimportant at the moment.

Coffee. Jitters. Awake. A strange subtle burning in my chest.

Downstairs is a circle. Incense. A yoga mat. Candles. Relaxation. Peace. God.

There’s a hot shower that will wash away the grime. That hazy feeling like I just worked out and am in cool down, but it’s all the time. The sweat is just almost dry.

There’s a job. My job. My paycheck and the source of life.

And I can’t get off the couch.

I hate it. It’s stupid. It makes me feel like crying. I don’t want to sit here. I want to go do these things. All of them. Force myself. Do it. I know they’re good. They’re important. They’re necessary. They will make me feel better.

But ... couch.

No. Stop. Don’t. What the fuck. Stop it. Fucking do it.

Food for thought this morning.

The devil’s chains are gone from around my neck.

Thdvlschnsrgnfrmrndmynck

Thdvlscnrgfmyk

To the sketchbook! Away!

I hate it out there. With its stress and computers and math. I’m good at those things, but I hate them. They don’t matter. They’re not important to me.

It’s lonely out there. Scary. Im comfortable being alone here. Content to stare off into space, watching my bookshelf breathe.