How quickly we move; how slowly I move. Not from one moment to the next, but like a long breathe drawing itself in, then out, the tide, the seasons, the slow, gentle touch of age.

Flowing without divisions and without deadlines. No discipline, no self-discipline, but it takes every muscle, every thought, to keep from moving along with the pressure. Blowing myself into unhappy ticks and tocks.

With a suffocating anticipation they wait for me to climb onboard. They wonder why I take so much time to stay or so much time to waste when I could be finding or making. Find a mate, make a family, find a job, make a future.

This is my life; I will live it slowly. I will not live my life between sick days and vacation time. I will not live to work until I am no longer useful. I will not work to live only to find that I have no time left for living at the end of each day, season, year, years.

I want my work to be life. I settle for nothing less and accept nothing more, an immeasurable self-discipline is one that cannot  be judged. There is only now.


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