Another dawn lost to piecework well past midnight. Slogging onward.
C. Miloscz, in one of his poems, talks about the fate of the poet, always taken for something other than he is, even after his death ~"no sign arriving from the other world to correct the mistake."
Peculiar events yesterday. I think I have the cultural context, and I'm aware that the locals who saw me disputing a receipt would have had little clue as to what I was disputing. But 'here I stand, I can do no other.' Be just in small things. Otherwise, when the small things turn against you, you''ll have no way of stopping the momentum. I'm not offended at all, by the way. My only concern is that the local folks not come to harm.
In my own country, it seems to me at least that many of my struggles of the last decade or so come from being surrounded by unsophisticated people who thought I was an unsophisticated clod for not realizing how much was to be gained from playing another sort of game. And if I was another sort of person, I might have believed them, and believed in them. Many do. There's a lot of bad stuff going on inside the prosperity.
My virtue, my discipline, my ways aren't as against the others. They're some of the only things I have with which to defend my mind and spirit against the others.
Onward.