Barcelona?  Really?  He wasn’t moving there and not because it isn’t a lovely city, which it obviously is, but he would not be doing THAT job anytime soon.  He would break it to them today.  And so it was.  Still HERE and still kicking. 

He awoke last night at 3:30AM, his mind reeling.  He had to have a cigarette to calm down and get out of his head.   He tried to fall back asleep but knew he must walk around a bit and pull himself back down.  It is funny, he thought, how obsessive one can be when half awake.  Everything seems so intense and hyper-real, when in fact it is the opposite.  He must remember this.

He wondered why he was always such a stress case, was it genetics?  He remembered 6th grade and THAT awful nun.  He was terrified of her and constantly worried.  He thought about her often and hoped she was dead. . . but not in hell or anything, just away from children and preferably not on this earth.

He found himself in a pleasant state of mind today.  He was back at the gym, despite finding the whole process more than annoying.  Upon leaving, he felt so much better, lighter really, and much calmer. 

What to do to pass the time today?  He absolutely cannot shop.  It really was a bad habit he had developed in order to find a little bit of joy.  But it needed to cease.  He really could talk himself into anything but filling the hole with merchandise was not the answer. . .

Anne Bradstreet.  That poem, Verses Upon the Burning of Our House.  So beautiful.   He recalled the final lines;

There’s wealth enough, I need no more,

Farewell, my pelf, farewell, my store,

The world no longer let me love,

My hope and treasure lies above.

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