I've truly no idea why so empty.
I stayed home today because I wasn't feeling well, a sore throat, a wheezing lung. The funny thing is, though, I'm not sure I fully believe myself, even with all the empirical evidence. There's something underneath the fabric of life that tests everything we say, everything we do against itself--Truth, I think is what we call it, though I'm not entirely sure that that's all that is in my mind on these days. The disconnect I feel when I stay home for a day and don't see anyone--"and if no one calls and I don't speak all day, do I disappear?"--it's haunting. And I wonder why that is, why rest is so hard, why isolation is like losing substance. Afterall, isn't the point of solitude to gain substance?
Anyway, all this musing gets me nowhere. This week all converged: I tried to write something for a friend's company, tried to finish the Church Matching Scholarship applications at my own workplace, am trying to write something for the church service on Sunday, am trying to clean my house, am trying to fold my laundry, am trying to "get better" -- all the mundane things in the world. And that's where life is right now. Sometimes the mundane is more challenging than the superreal. Ha! Maybe that's why I'm writing now instead of folding shirts!
But I did need to write, to tell you what's going on. And I do need to hear from you, whoever you are, no matter how bizarre that sounds. It is not good for man to be alone.