tasks and dreams and grocery lists

there is a rule for everything, and if there isn’t, there is only a matter of time until we’ve made one. as disappointing as it may be to acknowledge how hopelessly we depend on codes and bills to frame our every day and very being, it makes some kind of sense. I think of myself - no matter how hard I try not to - and how much my fickle sense of stability relies on the illusion of order presented to me. in communion with those around me, navigating their own assortment of tasks and dreams and grocery lists, I learn to wake and face the reality of my own insignificance each day through the structures that neatly package every breath and break. the predictability is upsetting and pathetic, though it is through order’s imitation that I reclaim my days from the storms.

I curse the very patterns that fuel my pulse. on my phone there are hospitals without power and school walls painted red with the blood of their students and the privilege of stability is lost on me. to hate what I need and not see the good it affords me: could ignorance be any more clear?