Existence is not living. Wake up, work, work job 2, sleep, repeat. Weekends? Wake up, work, work at the farm, sleep, repeat. Where is the colour, the flair, the diversity? When you allow the time to speed by, to release the reins of that volatile horse you lose yourself in a mundane grey sludge of wakefulness.
Stop, reset, engage, see. They are things we are told to do, things we try to do for ourselves. But what determines success? By what gauge do we measure the transition from apathy to passion?
When does colour reenter our sphere of influence? When we make it reenter. When we give up passive desire and take consistent action. When we realize that wanting is not good enough, and we actually do something about it.
But I could just be out to lunch.
meh, whatever.
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