Zacharael

Seraphic Decay
2002-11-03 06:42:15 (UTC)

Denoument...

The end of the day is looming on the horizon, and
anticipation fills me as this means I may yet again see my
beloved wife. Things are steadily improving between the two
of us. As for work, well, simply put... its work, and my
monday is only thirty five minutes from its close. Today
was much better than thursday, I felt one hundred percent
more confident in my job, and tomorrow is my last day in
the cardiovascular unit. Monday, I go back to the central
pharmacy and begin the newly created shift of the
centralized evening technician. The more I think about it,
the less I like it. The job is very poorly defined as of
yet, and I do so hate asking for assistance, but I suppose
to do this job correctly and efficiently, questions are the
only way.

Lately I've been reading, Memnoch the Devil, by Anne Rice,
and I must say that the religious implications of her
writing are quite intriguing to an agnostic such as myself.
I suppose religion in itself isnt what disgusts me, but the
act of mindless worship and conformity. That and the
degredation of another, or attrocities committed in the
name of one's lord, master, god, et cetra. Individuality is
the essence of being free willed.

In previous years, but not so much these days, I found
myself to be an extremely hateful person, but after much
introspection and many, many words of wisdom gone unheeded,
I now realize that all the energy taken by such malice was
nothing more than a vast waste of energy. I feel as though
I have transcended the need to be spiteful and malicious,
and now I have little more than a bit of pity, and mayhaps
a lingering disgust for those who would stand in my way. It
is only them, who I will expend my energies upon, and only
just enough to get them out of my way so that I may
continue looking for happiness in this lifetime. Now, if
only the seratonin levels in my head would cooperate, then
I would be at near peak efficiency.

The minutes seem to tick by at a lethargic pace as the
evening wears on, and I grow ever more full of anxiety to
be home, relaxing in the comforting embrace of not only my
better half, but of the throbbing music, the smells of
home, and of course, the wonderful softness of my newly
bought bed.

I feel that writing at the end of my shift gives me the
opportunity to... turn my brain back on, so to speak. Also,
writing gives me a sort of comfort, for the written word is
about the only artistic skill I posess at the moment,
though I have considered taking a few more art classes in
the field of sketch art and oil painting. There are so many
things I want to learn, and so little time to learn them
all. My worst fear I suppose, is that I wont have the
mental capacities to know everything I want to learn, and
be able to retain all of the knowledge necessary to become
a lawyer or surgeon. Only time will tell really.

I found this little piece of dark poetry quite interesting,
as it contains a bit of truth held at a pessimistic angle.
And so I take my leave with this little wisp of the
darkness within us all.

"With each new child's birth"
"We die in our hearts"
"Truth black, we are shown"
"Death always returns..."

And so the mantra continues...

Till later...
-Z