Вроде и не лютует
зимушка, но в полном разгаре сил своих...
Зима. Приболела. Уже
которую неделю не могу вылечить горло. Мёд, антибиотики и прочее просто не
помогают. Иногда в голове всплывает мысль о том, что кому-то что-то недосказано
и пока не выскажусь не вылечить мне это паршивое горло. От этих мыслей
развивается хандра. Недосказанного много. И подругам кое-каким есть что
сказать, на работе тоже пора бы уже высказаться о ситуации, которая угнетает,
раздражает и т.д. Но, хорошенько всё обдумав, делаю вывод, что не стоит. Ибо
как и в первом, так и во втором варианте никто меня не услышит и не поймёт,
потому проще просто сторонится этих людей, не зацикливаться и думать о людях,
которые приносят радость, которые, как и я, отдают ровно столько же, сколько
получают.
Так вот между грустными
мыслями о болезнях забредаю на кухню в поисках того, что подняло бы настроение,
подлечило бы меня. Конфетам – «нет». Зачем ходить на тренировки, если потом
конфетку за конфеткой втаптывать в себя? Цитрусовых не хочется. Какое оно «Это»
для души и здоровья?..
Замечаю в холодильнике
пакетик.
Сделайте себе приятное.
Горячее молоко, запах и вкус корицы, теплый плед и хорошая романтическая
музыка, возможно, фильм, а, возможно, зимний дождь за окном…
Снегом так и не пахнет…
Горло не болело только в тот вечер. Возможно… надо больше уделять себе
внимания, находить радость в малом, банальном. А человеческий эгоизм всё равно силы
сверху осудят и накажут… Бдительность же своего чувства справделивости буду усыплять молоком с корицей. Решено.
For my foreign friends...
Winter might be not severe but is in full swing…
Winter. I took sick. It's not the first week that I can't cure my sore throat. Honey, antibiotics etc. just don't help. Sometimes a thought comes about something unsaid to somebody and it seems that until I speak out, I wouldn't be able to cure this mangy sore throat. These thoughts bring dumps. Much is unsaid. There are things to tell my friends and at work it's time to speak out about the situation which depresses, irritates etc. But after given this a great deal of thought I make conclusion that there is no point. Because in both cases nobody will hear me and nobody understands, so it's easier just to avoid those people, not to get stuck, and to think about people who bring happiness, who, as me, give as much as they receive.
With such sad thoughts about illness I wander to kitchen looking for something to elate, to cure me. "No" to candies. What for to attend trainings if later you take one candy after another? Don't want citrus fruit. What is "IT" for the soul and health?..
Then I notice a sachet in my refrigerator…
There's no snow still… My throat did not hurt only that evening. Maybe… it's necessary to give more attention to yourself, find joy in small things, in commonness. And human egoism anyway will be convicted and punished by numen… And milk with cinnamon will help me to put down vigilance of my sense of justice… It's decided.
For my foreign friends...
Winter might be not severe but is in full swing…
Winter. I took sick. It's not the first week that I can't cure my sore throat. Honey, antibiotics etc. just don't help. Sometimes a thought comes about something unsaid to somebody and it seems that until I speak out, I wouldn't be able to cure this mangy sore throat. These thoughts bring dumps. Much is unsaid. There are things to tell my friends and at work it's time to speak out about the situation which depresses, irritates etc. But after given this a great deal of thought I make conclusion that there is no point. Because in both cases nobody will hear me and nobody understands, so it's easier just to avoid those people, not to get stuck, and to think about people who bring happiness, who, as me, give as much as they receive.
With such sad thoughts about illness I wander to kitchen looking for something to elate, to cure me. "No" to candies. What for to attend trainings if later you take one candy after another? Don't want citrus fruit. What is "IT" for the soul and health?..
Then I notice a sachet in my refrigerator…
Make yourself a pleasant thing. Hot milk, smell and taste of cinnamon, a warm plaid and good romantic music, maybe a movie or, maybe, a winter rain outside…
There's no snow still… My throat did not hurt only that evening. Maybe… it's necessary to give more attention to yourself, find joy in small things, in commonness. And human egoism anyway will be convicted and punished by numen… And milk with cinnamon will help me to put down vigilance of my sense of justice… It's decided.
