Ramblings from 2003 II

7/17/03

Somehow, there is comfort in the quiet hum of the slender cold air blower to my left, of busy fingers tapping with a tang of frustration, impatience, or boredom.

My heavy head struggles to wake up my sleepy eyes connected tomy numb brain. My officemates desperately try to make small talk, anything to keep the face from going stiff and the fierce scowls from becoming permanent fixtures on our otherwise lovely countenance.

Hearing Ronald's rich baritone is quite soothing, making me, I'm afraid, all the more sleepy. Donna and Emi's high-pitched girly giggles prick the ears to curiosity but it isn't quite enough. Bernadette's deep mumblings is a sharp contrast to the absolute silence of the people in front.

A question thrown here and there. The rumble of laughter. And I continue to write just as my head moves closer, almost snuggly, to the table top.

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Sometimes, I think I edit too much -- my thoughts, my speech, my penned words. There is an exhilarating freedom in writing as the ink flows-- with no rules, no eyes, no critics, no turning back choice to make me stilted and unnatural.

I write, conscious still of errors, of grammar that fall short or go beyond the accepted, of a penmanship that will take time to decipher. But I let it all be. I let the errors be.

For what is perfection without errors? What is life without colors? What is a line without the ramblings of the dots? For even the trivial has its purpose. Even the unacceptable has its point. Boredom is a heavy burden and it is life's sense of humor to make us long for the trivial and unaccepted to make it all a little lighter.

I envy those who don't allow themselves to think too much, to dream too much, or to imagine too much. For to do so would mean being discontent. But what is life without these?

Oh, balance! Such a tricky thing!