too much

Some days my boss stares at me over a pile of bills and says "Too much," while putting on a thick Russian accent.

She works seven days a week, stays late after closing, puts her sweat and blood into the clothing she sells and fights to pay her bills. "Too much," I agree. "Too much," she says again. Eventually we laugh.

I often find myself swimming in to-do lists. At the moment I'm struggling to finish the year, deal with life's complications, and plan my future journeys. The fine details awaken only yawns in my system. That and maybe a stomach ulcer or two from stress.

Will I spend my life constantly running? There will always be taxes to pay, a stomach or more to feed, an alarm clock to awaken me and duties to attend to.

In a modern world of mass technology these simple tasks almost seem to complicate themselves. My needs are superfluous and yet necessary for the time I live in. I need internet, a computer, a phone, face wash, cover up; multicoloured products from supermarket shelves.

The worst part is I would be desperately restless without a life of complications.

When I have nothing to do I make errands up. Everything is either too much or not enough.

At times like this I must strive for simplicity. When everybody and everything is trying so hard to be different, exciting, and interesting, it is best just to sit aside and grin. "Keep it simple," I mutter under my breath.

I'm always surprised to find that when I exercise simplicity the result is unforced, unpretentious, effortless, and honest.