Boreal Notes

I don't really want to venture back south. Although it's warmer, I know I'd be struggling to survive there too. In addition, I wouldn't really be able to concentrate on my pursuits. I'd be too busy marketing. How am I going to get by when my participation in the Task ends? Granted, I was never too enthused about it, nor did I ever accomplish it thoroughly.

Maybe bread, feta cheese, and my pursuits are all I need in life. I’ve gotten by without my medication before. I suppose, if absolutely forced by circumstances, I could do it again, although it's difficult.

Something has to go well in the Market for me eventually. There are people making money there. When will it be my turn?

It's time to perform the task. Despite being hungry, I don't want to go. I've already missed the chance to arrive in time for a potentially more lucrative task, and here I sit, unable to tear myself from the library to acquire resources.

I stood outside a long time, thinking the doors were locked, but I was trying to enter through the wrong one. It appeared the task was over, though it hadn’t begun. Growing weary of the effort it takes to stand and keep asking, I was about to leave when someone gave me enough to reach a collaborator’s table. Going back on my vow, I went to the pharmacy just before closing and spent it all on some high-quality medication.

I need to transact at the market and negotiate with collaborators if I’m going to make some real money, but I keep putting financial well-being aside for mental well-being. Well, one must be well, I suppose—but it’s better to be mentally well and materially well-off at the same time.

Days and nights coalesce into years. The Task has me in its grip; I can’t escape, even if I wanted to. A destiny of penury, nobly borne, breaks me and rides me like a stubborn steed.