building a drystone wall

He watered the plants, and thought to himself by extension: water everything else., including yourself.

Unfortunately a number of half-polished thoughts were lost in his travels, or travails. where did they go, those thoughts between conception and completion, that tumbled into blackness when the computer crashed?

One of these trains of thoughts had in fact been about the necessity to abandon the comparisons between his mind and the minds of others, that hit either hit much too far below the mark he had set itself, or hovered too far above. But what I said was not in this way of saying, and blood has been spilled, some ugly little beast sacrificed; neither I am a content with its replacement - he said something to me along these lines, but I forget, I am no chronicler, and this persona who was no doubt dear to me has already faded away, to be replaced, one that is fraying at the edges and unsuitable, and this process of minute-by-minute leakage is insufferable. Or something along those lines.

It was about rendering the mundane joyous, that much I remember. It was about neither being an expert or a drudge, was that it? No it is not, and don't mock me, please. The struggle is desperate, in its quiet, microscopic way.