I'll care later.

The idea of venting and unloading before going to bed seems like a good idea. I always intend to do so. Get everything off my chest and clear my head before bed. It's something that I need to do more often. However, the same thing happens often. Much like right now, I just don't feel like talking about anything. Sweep it all under the rug. Although I know it won't stay there, and isn't healthy. I am in a "I don't give a care" mood. I will procrastinate with the knowledge that it isn't healthy. Let my feelings and thoughts fester.
I really do not care right now. I am going to bed.

I am feeling sad and frustrated.
I need this icky mood to pass already.
I want to feel happy and hopeful.

The Tuft of Flowers

The Tuft of Flowers

I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.
The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the leveled scene.
I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.
But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been -- alone,
'As all must be,' I said within my heart,
'Whether they work together or apart.'
But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a bewildered butterfly,
Seeking with memories grown dim o'er night
Some resting flower of yesterday's delight.
And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.
And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.
I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;
But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,
A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.
The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,
Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.
The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,
That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,
And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;
But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;
And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.
'Men work together,' I told him from the heart,
'Whether they work together or apart.'

-Robert Frost

A new start

I haven't posted a blog in awhile now. Sometimes its easier to forget my emotions and thoughts, then to take the time to unload. But, I am back.
A new blog. A new start. A new outlook.