grand visage of stealing away life at a slightest of wimps seems so much enticing and alluring.. it draws me into the wonderful hinterland and makes me really want to believe in living such a life. but yet a reclusive life has all but the antithesis of what is commonly agreed as the happy life… a complete life is what one would paint a little cosy nest decorated with brilliant windows and muddy air.. silence augmented by shrieks and tantrums bellowed by uncontrollable meatloafs.. and ends with legions of followers who hardly know you and need you anymore… i know i make it sound unbearable, almost despicable but yet i sway back and forth, front and side towards the choo choo life and the trodden path.
i think deep inside, if i had pursue (or had the chance) a wondering rootless life, i would be just about as happy and contented as i am now. in fact, in all likelihood i have a small outside chance of being just a tad happier. i think i crave solitude in an extroverted fashion, maybe it is the awe and incredulity i get that drives my vain interior and, perhaps, makes it more worthwhile than chasing that well laden path of tarmac sprinkled intermittently with persistent rain.
as i see it, i think my life is good and i also see it as a comma than a dot dot dot, where a comma would seem to suggest something anew could come along and return me back to my grazing days.
this post’s original intention was to discuss about bad habits being habits of other people but yet, i guess, in this morose, sober state of mind, some decisions just keeps coming back. not just the bad ones but the wrong ones, the good ones, the happy ones, the frivolous ones, the idiotic ones and so on… things that, by now, only i would care and bother to remember, sometimes i now see it with bright clarity and almost in 3D.
where is this post going? the reader, indulge me, might ask, and i never liked to answer such questions because this is somewhat how i like it: a little blurry like the rainbow fighting the rising sun.


















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