I'm reading the book with unease. Its not just that the author's uneasy, because of embarking upon a journey as his father faces a battle against cancer, but because I'm intimidated. By so many words. Because I cannot but myself in his shoes. What an enormous task. I'm intimidated. By the challenge of writing, to completion, a book. The thought is insecure making. It's something that every insecurity shies away from. Then, but with not much ease, I'm reminded that like any journey of a 1000 miles, it's undertaken one step, one word at a time.
I'm lying on the bed shirt less.
The afternoon shadows are lengthening.
I'm restless.
By the end of 2010 I want to walk the Camino dos Santiago.
I'm going to go to gym now, despite huge resistance. I'm honing my self discipline. For the last week I've also chosen not to take alcohol. That's important for me. Also difficult.
Also, as usual, I think too much, I'm too self analytical. Dangerously so.
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