Waste of a lovely day

[flemmings]

Beautiful October here-- pristine blue sky backing yellow leaves. Bouquet consists of the Pipang October of '03 and '93 Tokyo bicycle trips, which did the 'sun on high windows' and 'clear blue sky' thing even if the 'all autumn colours again' one was ahem a little less dramatic.

A pity then that I'm simultaneously assailed by an attack of spleen unpleasantly reminiscent of PMS and fandom idiocies, caused by nothing I can pinpoint. Breathing and attention makes it go away for stretches at a time before the snarlies come roaring back again. A pain, though I'm consoled by the testimony of one practitioner who took himself off to a hut in Thailand with no company and a basic Buddhist text, upon which he was startled to find himself assailed by

a lifetime supply of suppressed anger and fear. For the first three months, I had to endure an almost continuous flood of hatred, rage, anger and fear. (J note: mh, sounds like Tokyo.) This deluge of negativity was not what I was expecting. I had been looking forward to a life of tranquility.

Yes well, evidently mindfulness works on this, but I have a sneaking suspicion that what I really need to do is to write something. Which I procrastinate on because it requires writing without inspiration, that dreary soul-killing exercise. Would rather count my breaths than that.

Maybe I should go mend some sheets instead, to have at least the comfort of usefulness.