Chemistry of time

It may have passed unnoticed but I had been keeping a rather low profile lately and have not been writing as much as I should. Let's just say I felt like threading on thin ice and whatever I write might end up boomeranging back at me.

What I ended up with right now is a whole bunch of thoughts and feelings stuck in the bottle. They have been in there, mixing and reacting with each other so much that one can no longer tell what is in there and if the stuff can kill. So here I am, having spent some time to sort through them, applying it through a gradient centrifuge, PCR and the lot. Not surprisingly, a whole chunk of it was contaminated by the highly volatile component called grief, some shots of anger, a small portion of apathy and boredom, a virtually undetectable amount of happiness and that ever present minute amount of hope.

Ok, first up. Let us get one thing clear: this is not going to go the "emo" route (not that I want any of my posts to go that way anyway). Next, note the reserved rights I hold for my writing (so play nice and be fair). These logs are offering you a window into my world. The least you could do is not abuse this privilege.

Now it's easy to just chuck the grief away and deal with the rest right? Sorry. That's not the way I do things. We all know where it comes from. Being shunned, getting spiteful vibes and generally treated like an outcast. You'll be seeing me in a hazmat suit quite often. That stuff makes nuclear waste seem like a pile of dog poo, that's how difficult it is to deal with and I don't want the IAEA breathing down my neck for illegal disposal of such hazardous material. Just have to deal with the slow decay through it's eccentric half-life.

The anger component generally comes from the everyday frustrations, from work (imbeciles...) , commuting to and from work (bloody imbeciles...) and irritating people around me (you'll be surprised at how many there are). Pretty explosive component but it evaporates naturally with time so no worries over that.

The apathy and boredom you can understand when you just don't feel like doing, thinking or feeling anything at all (I could use more of that apathy). Now, one wonders where I got things right to have captured that minute amount of happiness? Thinking hard, I suppose it's when the stuff you've ordered arrived, finding something extraordinary in what seemed like a pile of debris, talking to someone you haven't talked to for a while...

Now, hope. So inert and pure, just like gold. Precious and incorruptible. Though the amount is small, I cannot seem to find any means to increase it's mass nor find the heart to lose it. Looking out there right now, it seems like everyone could use alot more of it these days. I know I could.

The writer tried visiting the local pawn shop to try to capitalise on the rising ore prices, only to discover that there is neither a market for hope nor a value to it.