the mid-day naps which invariably end abruptly with headache and listless sitting on the bed, accompanied with thoughts along the lines of:
‘what am i doing with my life?’
the immediate and uncontrolled urge to plug the holes in conversation known as ‘silence’ and speak things which have not received adequate thought in sobriety, culminating in the mind, as is always the case, a few moments later than it should have, as regretful sentiments of:
‘why did i say that?’
the need for security and avoidance of blame; as if by being uncertain and ignorant, the liabilities that far too often stem from a lusty desire to sound erudite can be absolved by prefacing with:
‘i don’t know, but i think…’
the brooding thoughts of enmity, the breeding ground of contempt; pride that wants us to stand tall indignantly when we should stoop down with humility and seek forgiveness and reconciliation; pride that gently whispers in our ears:
‘i deserve better than that.’
the moments of distrust in the things that have been revealed; the thoughts and senses which are still haunted by the spectres of old known as skepticism and cynicism, making them dull; causing the eyes to see but not perceive, the ears listen but not hear, and the mind to know but yet still struggle to believe, inadvertently disparaging His work with doubts of:
‘how can i possibly know?’
all these, i confess.
all these, i pray to have less.