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Joy and repetition

Found myself in an excited, joyful mood soon after I woke up this morning. A gift. For the past few days I've made a point to walk through a corridor of cherry blossoms on my way to work; I'm already looking forward to breathing deeply of their scent.

Reading from the end of Exodus: I wish I didn't find repetition and detail so boring sometimes. I hate repeating myself: I feel unlistened to, which makes the retelling to one who has already not listened once all the more futile. Likewise, I am a poor listener to stories already told, to mounds of detail that bury points rather than enhancing them, or to dramatic buildups for endings I can already see coming. Much repetition makes me think, "Don't you realize I'm listening? Do you not think of what you say to me? If the places you've been with me aren't worth remembering (or at least considering), I have little value in your eyes. I am only an audience for your performance-- you seek my applause, not my presence. You want to be large, and you want me to be small." Words can beautiful, yet I am quickly disenchanted when I feel manipulated by their wielders.

(Also, I am an impatient bastard. This is important to acknowledge. I am glad my Father repeats Himself, and that He listens no matter how many times I tell Him the same story.)

Spring is sweet. Today would be a good day to enjoy the love of a beautiful woman. I don't expect to today, but the idea still makes me happy.

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