O ye of little faith

Every muscle in my body is on lockdown, tight leash, morning glory, permanent aches. But I must roll my reserves. Months and years ago I would question my decision now to persevere. I simply do not have the will to go on like this. But here I am and here I must, for absolutely nothing at all.

Superstar was what she called me, and funnily enough my neuro-otological impulse was to horripilate. I never respond well to compliments. Welcome as it is, I think it is superfluous, gives room to complacency and misplaced ego. Olly told me the same thing last Saturday. I must needs stand up now for it is time for me to show a well-rounded confidence befitting my station, although to be fair nothing at the moment still feels much deserved. Everything is a hand-me-down for now. When I do get to that point -- or if -- then murder is the quickdial I will first peruse. One day I shall see the wood for the trees.

And I also had a similar interaction with Ainhoa about it. Not much can be said but more ado about not much to be said. A nosedive into my thought processes now will only serve to exacerbate that which I strive to avoid, for the betterment of what little remains of my spirit, and for the sake of all that is good.

I started the day like a shit sandwich and I was congratulated for it, but in the end, as I walk the lonely road home from work, that selfsame sandwich turned stale and all was left for me to consume it.