The week, I think, has ended. I'd like to put my stamp on it, seal it, send it off, and declare it won't be returning.
It's full. I'll have to put multiple stamps on it, or perhaps I could buy one of those pre-paid, one-size-fits-all boxes. But then I'd have to buy packaging tape and be confronted with that tape-stretching sound, like the roar of an old lion calling to God for its food.
What I'm trying to say is, it's been a busy, full week. It's ended, humorously, with multiple exhortations, from multiple sources, to slow down. The last chapter in a book Reslife staff is reading (title intetionally ommitted due to excessive cheesiness) struck home, it was about "slowing."
My life, this semester, has taken an unexpected turn, its pace rushing from the dull hum of occasional activity to something much closer to a freight train packed full of inevitability.
The chapter in aforementioned book, combined with a reflection on overcoming tempestuosity, and the reading and discussion of Tolstoy's The Death of Ivan Ilyich, have all served to awaken again the stifled voice of my soul.
Brief aside - addressing my soul:
Hello again, old friend.
Allow me to take this moment and express the wretched feelings your absence has created. I've missed you. If only I had a way of knowing how long you've been gone. We could catch-up, do more than discuss the weather and exchange bad puns.
Silly, I know, awkward even. It's just that I have this pent-up, nervous energy that bubbles over when I'm not sure what "the situation calls for." Why do you think I'm rambling?
Can you speak? I promise I'll be quiet. I've done too much talking, not enough listening. I even wrote my own obituary and barely consulted you. That, I know, was foolish.
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