I suppose I should check in with you Maria. All is not as well as should be. Words fail to reach me, seemingly intercepted by some invisible and impenetrable force. They don’t flow as they should, as they always did so naturally. I have to force phrases to congruous, constantly detangling and assembling letters within the steaming bowl of cloudy alphabet soup that stands before me. My heart isn’t in it. I am overwhelmed and earnestly tired.
Things are amassing atop of me, threatening to bury me alive with their urgency. And I find myself continually in search of signs for prosperity and invariably lost in the pursuit of miracles. I seem to read about them everywhere, even my intuition whispering so. My horoscope foretells of a glimmering month, showering me with sprinkles of hope. As it turns out I have quite the glittering year to come but somehow I fail to believe it because as I look around me, I fail to notice any kind of improvement. And I feel like I’ve been told all this before. Much like the false promises of a greedy politician, all wondrous things promised by him/her somehow evade the masses yet the negative suggestions never fail to materialise.