the job is done
Well... It is finished. It feels anti climactic! Like... My whole consciousness is oriented around walking all day long every day, unless it is a glorious rest day, which means doing the absolute minimum of chores and maximum of laying down. There wasn't room for much else. In the end it is simple...I had to finish what I said I would do. I learned that the thing I was doing had no magic, really. All of that romance and sparkle existed only in my dreams about the thing. This doesn't mean the thing has no value. It probably has more value than the thoughts about it. I know that binding myself to the task of it means something, though I don't yet know if it diminished me through depletion or gave me something worth having... Or neither of those. Perhaps I'm both tired and burdened by something unnecessary. But somehow I think that is unlikely. I only know I held on and stuck it out even as I lost what "it" is. Can the will burn up it's object? It seems so.