And two (or three) other observations along the road to Laguna:
- The things I say are often inconsistent. It’s not that I lie (though I admit I enjoy a bit of innocent deception); it’s that I forget, quite easily and unfortunately, so I have to make things up to even finish a story.
- I know myself; I know my power. In my youth (today) I mapped out my capacities and my strengths, my caprices, and the calamities in life which can shake me, and to what extent. Knowledge usurps the world, et cetera.
- I’ve got a brewing kind of hatred in me, over my family, but love has a way of stifling hurts and denying the need for criticism. It’s delaying the promise of actual resolution and opting for the possibility of things blowing up like hell. We’ll see how it goes.
That’s it for now. Visiting the dead.