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reckoning.

Ridiculous as it is.. the realisation that a more beautiful girl is worth going through the rigmarole of marriage with the validation from society as a goalpost to have attained, only to pay for it with a significant portion of the lifetime for its upkeep, maintanence and freedom. I was married to a rich, beautiful girl. The daily life was not worth putting up for the reward. Sexual life is a diminishing return. Have wondered why I did marry or what did I subject myself to this rigmarole.. Yes. Also this: maybe if I had gone through those states unaware but in a blissful ignorance of the objective reality of life than be lost in subjective narrations about love, meaning, purpose and goal.. that comes as a package with this pursuit of a woman.. then it's worth subjecting one's time on earth to that.. But having coming out of the cave.. to go back, is bothering. There's not much rewards. Having understood the dopamine reward system, the charm, beauty and ethereal attraction ...
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mammoth task ahead.

Rain is playing hide and seek. Pumping equipment kept engaged all the day; fatigue would induce maintenance troubles. 
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the loss of innocence.

 About what life is.  Or it's sub-units; childhood, adult-ing, maturing, coasting, aging, retiring.  Or the glues that keep one distracted from existential questions and in the mindfulness about the present activity.  To know, to analyze and figure out the objective truths instead of engaging in a self-deception or suspension of disbelief about the happenings like seeing the magic from the backstage.  Biology, physics and chemistry and the inter-plays to decode the mechanisms driving the being into doing.  All this, now taking the toll. Or actions having consequences; couldn't have the will from within to trick/deceive myself into a narrative.  Remember the young years when pursuing a woman ignoring everything else, like a monomaniac, convincing oneself that this target is the elixir of life and therefore worth every sacrifice?  Or the drugged addiction when listening to a composition from a cinema audio? Songs or even the BGM.  Or the mesmer...
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stability.

 There's everything.  A decent genetics inherited from either of the lineage. There's a tendency towards insulin resistance in one side; have to tone down on the food-as-happiness/cope to handle that.  Also, there's high uric acid that came from the father. Going lean on protein and nil on added sugars, minimizing fructose.  Eyesight good. Teeth, about 70% good and needs thorough discipline in maintaining. Still not brushing every night.  Body aside.. Mind. Filled with life experiences, lived and observed. At a good stage to pick/choose what (should/shouldn't) matter. Quality experiences takes priority over playing slave to the invisible threads from the puppet masters aka genetic drives of instincts and programmed meaning pathways and feeling alive in those circuits.  Time is running out. In the end I will have to stop and rely on memories and observations as the means to be alive, till then, to participate as much.  The "I" will(should) cease to exis...
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electrocution.

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 So, an accident. Or incident. Or a happening.  (Mis)handled a power outlet port when the switch was ON. The port had no insulation, so the phase and neutral both came into contact with the fingers.  Three burn spots. One, the power entry. Second, the side of the same finger where the skin was burnt to a white. Then the second finger that was in contact with the side of the first finger.  It wasn't just a touch and go, but a few seconds of electricity passing through. I wasn't sure what happened, as there was bleeding at two spots and I kept them tightly pressed to arrest it.  Heart rate seemed okay. Sweating was there, but that's from the humidity in the air at 7 pm in that farmhouse.  Scolded myself for taking the bike. Car would have been helpful. Calmed myself with some AI help and then went to the medical shop, 2 band-aid. Then home. Friday 17th of April it was.  The skin is sensitive on both the fingers where the electricity passed. Red spots. Si...
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disbelief.

 The suspension of it.  Necessary to enjoy a movie, book or any fictional narrative.  Seems I have lost that capacity.  Is it a sign of aging? Or, a sign that I should be pursuing abstract books than these stories? 
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Orchestra.

Work has started to demand a lot of time, energy and attention. The typical me is flooding the brain with simulations and outcomes of the tasks and charting course accordingly. Trying to sync the happenings as much as possible, like a fine piece of music. There is a voice in the head that says this will consume your time on earth and you aren't realizing it.  There is also a voice in the head that says this actually is the right way to live.  Works of great authors await my attention.  Tempus fugit.  Nothing (really) matters. 
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