The Hour

This is the hour. The hour between when my co-workers go to lunch and when I go. The first break in the day where the dust settles and I can focus on other things. There is not too much dust lately. Not a lot going on. The corporation I work for is in the middle of a massive reorganization, as I am. I feel like everything is doing that. Reality shifting. Things going in and out of focus without any control. One day the pain, pressure and yearning in my chest and head is replaced by calm and straightforward trajected thinking. Unmovable and monstrous issues and problems have turned featherweight and can be pushed aside with a breath. Such is my mind. How can I trust my own head when the decisions I've made may have been weighted with imaginary gravitas? The highs and lows are very clearly defined, but the mania is still a mystery. Are my decisions, which I know can be destructive personally, financially and emotionally, (to not only myself), based on fact? On blind faith that what I want to happen will? Is it really supposed to be to chaotic? Torturous? Black and dark? Is it really supposed to feel this way? Where is the promised Light? The redemption and swelling music. Are the tears that are my fault worth nothing? Thoreau said "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation." Who are the men that did not? Whose lives did they fuck up to be so pure and without despair? Does that exist?