Everything’s white. Unless it’s colored. I am petrified of whiteness. It’s bleak, preternaturally. Silence seems colorless. But I need it. It will be my salvation. My overly colorful, busy, noisy life will kill me.

I’m not kidding. The very simple potion used to rob me of my life force is — noise. Overinundation. Where is that tipping point? That’s what I’m supposed to be testing, to be dipping my toe into. What will happen if I eschew all the noise? Will I explode? Will I heal? What if I go on a meditation retreat? Do I need that, or can I take my own personal mini retreats? Why is it so hard to think of this as the antidote when I’m in the moment of decision? Maybe that’s the hardest time to practice this practice. I must fit it in between pressure points. Not rest on my laurels. On the other hand, every moment is a moment of decision of sorts.

On a side note, why is it so difficult to make the seemingly constant adjustments to my vision? It’s not that it’s literally difficult, it’s just a pain in the neck to keep track of my (new) glasses, to get used to wearing them, to keep them clean (and have a system for that). I also miss having perfect vision, I guess. I used to kind of pride myself on that.