happiness

Sometimes the presence of someone is enough to make one happy. Is such happiness the purest? When that someone need not do anything special- no gravitations, no stimulation, no flowery words, no gifts of frankincense, myrrh, or gold. Just a presence was enough. But is such happiness sustainable? We always end up wanting something, expecting something.
These days relationships are "quid pro quo"-based- what can you give me, what can I give you, I did this for you, so I expect this from you. Cold, hard love.

There was something else I wanted to write about but it had fled from my memory... sigh... old age...

Was missing Lazarus this morning. Wishing I have time off to spend a morning there picnicking with a good book.

Finished haruki murakami's wind up bird chronicles, read portions of Paul Theroux 's tao of travel, and just started on Virginia Woolf's diary. Woolf wrote beautifully. I love her prose.
She wrote it in the "stream of consciousness" style as she herself claimed likewise. The pros of such writing is that it is totally uncensored and the cons is that it can seem like ramblings of nothing in significance. I like her thoughts, her observations; there's a certain sagaciousness in her writing. Shall leave my thoughts about the book for the actual book review.

Sister's cat died today and I teared while thinking about it. Should we not have nor love in order to escape pain? Sometimes that fear of losing overpowers us and we abandon the chance to love.