(`･ω･´)

⊂二二二（　＾ω＾）二⊃ Booooooooooon!

⊂二二二（　＾ω＾）二⊃ Booooooooooon!

⊂二二二（　＾ω＾）二⊃ Booooooooooon!

play a game

When you stop to realize that there's no mutual understanding for what specifically measures success, it's difficult to stay motivated. Even moreso when you acknowledge that most of what you do, even menial tasks, is performed and molded by the recognition of your peers. You have to stop and wonder. We were young then. Placing our efforts elsewhere. It was February, down in the willow garden. And in the streets the children screamed. The lovers cried and the poets dreamed. But not a word was spoken. The churchbells all were broken. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad Gita. When the season took on it's multi-mediocre form and said: "Now I am become bland. The destroyer of tastes." And over the Spring gales she wishfully cooed, "Look on down from the bridge. It's still raining up here." I suppose this was how it ought to be.

God, I love Spring!