Propounded imbroglio, sub rosa.
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2006-06-11 - 2:02 p.m.
Solitude is not solitude. I can't sit still. The caffiene. The wine. Even the program corrects my mistakes, gives me capitals, switches around my "i" and "e". Phew. I clearly do not yet fully appreciate the genius of modern technology. I mean, I am still hauling around compact discs. Fat packets of A4. Books! Everything that has been given to help me is still alien. The packaging has not been discarded, just in case. I'm not sure that I could walk out into the forest yet. Not just yet. Even with my standard issue nearly sorted out. The trees entice me with their telegrams, sent via the sun, smudged gently with Japanese brush strokes onto pale walls. Not sure yet if when I walk out... well, anything could happen. The city. Inside. Looking at the wall lamp glowing so prettily. it's sending me the message of city lights. Just a hop, skip and a jump down the hill, through the green to the city. But I'm not sure I could go down there yet, even with my regimen fairly well practiced. It's so beautiful here. I noticed it years ago, when I was but a fool. Now I just wait. There's an invitation going on, but I'm unsure of the acceptance etiquette.
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