(Too: The surprising endeavour of listening to ones inner monologues while mind and body are idle. Somewhere in between unsolved daily challenges, weird anxieties of all flavours, fantasies same as weird, and a transforming subtext hard to understand. Moving on as a strategy to avoid this kind of exposure. Trained to feel guilty in idle mode.)
6pm and on. Later that Sunday. Trying to pick up what's left behind. Lighting a single candle, watching it cast random shadows through a dimly lit room. Somehow in need of music but unsure what to pick. Same for books. So the moment is quiet lazy contemplation, wrestling with a feeling of guilt again for not doing anything meaningful. Maybe that needs to be trained, too.