Stuffed

It's my job to listen, not to hear. I spend my time thinking my life and rarely living it. Inside my head it's just as it should be. I waste hours, days, weeks and worst of all years wishing the world outside my eyelids would be like it's mirror inside those two flaps of skin. It rarely is. It has it's moments, now and then. But by and large they aren't related. Like third cousins by marriage who might meet once or twice at a family reunion or the odd funeral. The trouble is timing. It's always inconvenient to make the tweaks needed. There's always "other people" to consider. Their feelings. Their ideal worlds. I guess it comes down to self worth. Should you nuke your neighbour to better yourself? Can you justify it as self defense? Should you even have to? Did they do anything wrong or were you just acting in your own self interest? To hell with it. At least that's the ideal solution. But it's the choice that's usually made on the inside of my eyelids.