Friday, April 9, 2021

I tremble before the duties of the day. Do I fear poor outcomes, or simply the existence of work?

Like a child, I pine for a day empty of obligation. On such days I am rudderless, a paper cup in the wind, and I retire regretful and dissolute.

Are these chores gifts? A child seeks not idleness but play. Let me approach these gifts as a child.

(Letter #2,281)