Praetorian Plan

On my first night in my new place, the stars were so bright, almost like fireflies, could I but reach forth my hand.

I’ve come so close to having a real impact on this world. Honestly, I’m not certain where I’m going with the preceding sentence. I’m still wickedly busy and the extraneous pollution of daily life that continually forces its way into my thoughts is, to put it mildly, inconvenient.

I need to find a way to access the parts of my brain that are considered inaccessible. There must be something useful in there.

I have, in my scant off-time, been contemplating something big:

There are moments in life, moments when you know you’ve crossed a bridge, that your old life is over.

These are interspersed with sometimes weeks of mind-numbing sameness; they run together and become a part of some sort of mercurial memory-soup. You can pick out some specifics but the rest is just an unappetizing and unrecognizable gruel.

I refuse to be content with this, but how does one manufacture time?

This is, of course, unacceptable.

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