Divergences.

Undoubtedly, the past few months have been hectic. They have been almost apathetic, I feel, sometimes, like dragging a carcass through a long and dark highway. A carcass made out of my motivation and which is worse, my patience for life; perhaps it's because the lack of a serious challenge dulls me and bores me to the bridge of almost wanting to give up living altogether, or because the weather and their idiotic day-saving schedule makes me wake up as late as 7am thinking is fucking 5am. I have come to the point where I simply don't care about the outer world, sometimes, just sometimes, I feel hatred for everyone else on this strange land, from the fat guy with greasy hair selling cd's on the metro, to the ''hip'' morons I often see around walking with their paste ray ban glasses as if they owned the world; there's no reason not to despise them, there's nothing surprising or different on any of them... Yet, the more I submerge myself in Buddhism, the harder it comes to me to feel love for all ''sentient beings'' when most of them are either sentient, or even beings. 

I've been reading Henry Miller on the metro and it's been on for days now, and strangely, it's the only moment of the day I actually feel like myself. Neither my patients, nor my relationships, or even the remembrance of Colombia makes me feel like I belong to somewhere. Waking every morning has become like an effort I'm sometimes not even willing to make. I mean, what's life without something bigger than you dragging you around to keep the edge on? Nothing. Fucking Nothing. Just a cycle that repeats itself until the very verge of frenzy or dead -whatever caught you first-. 

For the time being I remain untouchable, I remain obscure, I remain away. Lingering like a ghost and waiting for the blaze to storm up the night and wakes me up from this diligent self I've become.