(no subject)

[solitary_summer]

Those sand mandalas tibetan monks create only to destroy them afterwards, in order to show the impermanence of all things? Work feels like this sometimes. I had the shop in (near) perfect order for exactly two days; today we got a large delivery for the next advertisement folder, after we'd arranged the books for the current one only last week; in record time, I might add. And it starts again, shifting books around to make room for the new ones, minor and major re-arrangements, chaos to cosmos, to chaos, to cosmos....

It should be more frustrating than it is. It is, in fact almost, strangely, spiritual.



Or maybe this would be a good time to question my sanity...