I've grown so damn detached. My ambition instructs me to rage. My body insists upon discipline. My heart is mired in indifference. So here I am at a standoff. After all, movement can't be created out of nothing. It's a law of thermodynamics. My inner flame needs to be stoked by something outside of myself. Gritting my teeth and clenching my fists won't get it done, not anymore. I need a love reaction, a hate reaction, something. But the price of elicitation has gone up. And there's a hole in my pocket.
Oh we're so proud of ourselves when we impose self-denial, particularly when there's no good reason to go without. "How altruistic of me to deprive myself of love, happiness, and redemption! I shouldn't take what I don't deserve, anyhow." What a cheap way to ennoble oneself. Although we'd like to think so, suffering needlessly doesn't guarantee anything in the future. Privation it is not altruism. It's fear, idealized fear.
The room is getting cold but that means something else is heating up. I can hear the potential energy whispering in my ear. "You can't keep starting over. This is where it ends. Norma, finish what you've started."