The Fate-Tempting Booyah

Worry doesn’t always come to nothing.  But often it does.  Not today, though! Booyah!
…is that the booyah that tempts fate?

What do I do? What do I do? With a love that won’t sit still. Won’t do what it’s told.

This is a day where my boss and her plumber are being chased by coyotes, a major sports team’s official mascot has spread-eagled himself in front of me against my office’s glass partition, and I am unable to come up with a name for my event that doesn’t feel like if you turned your head it might actually be x – rated.  Garden of Earthly Delights?  The Sweet Spot?   There’s got to be a nice middle ground that is marketable and not completely boring. Hmmm. More work.
I don’t want to put any more frustration on the sacrificial font today.  I want to be positive.  Christmas is close.  I want to enjoy my day rather than feeling like I’m failing and wrong.  Which may continue, as ever, to be the wrong choice.  But it’s a choice I’m making as hard as I possibly can.
Buy Christmas Presents
Send the present to my friend in Italy
Send the cards out I wrote
Write a card for my grandfather
Set-up the psychic
Set-up everything else ever
When I’m not sure what to say or do, I seem to leave my body and float quietly.  If I wanted to, in the gap, I could think about you.  We’ve both escaped, did you realize?  Do you? Can you? Do your thoughts look back at all with nostalgia or are you only faintly aware of just this blank gray block in your memory banks of that time.  Are we all codes? Am I just another one or zero?  Am I a one or a zero if this is the way it must be.  It was such a long time ago.  I’m curious now, the sadness a meat that time has fed on and there’s just the bones, the scientific remains of what was to poke at and dust with little brushes. This is what was, we say, knowingly, and pin a label underneath the ulna.  But when it was up and running, when there was blood and friction and motion, we didn’t think about the state of the bones, the physical laws, the carbon dating that would explain what it was about us that was worthy of eons of study.  We were in the thick of it.  This vast confusion that still holds sway no matter how far I’ve run from the folly.  The blank gray block we swam in, kicked the sides of, pickled ourselves in and dreamed upon until the bottom fell out.  I have all of this…material memory…bricks and blocks and bones.  Meant for building.  I wonder if you even have the feeling or have replicated it elsewhere with someone else, made it technicolor and mega-pixeled and you see things for what they are now.  I am sure you are sharper now after being drug over the whetstone until you sung.

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