Nerp

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I have things to do.  Okay, I always feel better when I go ahead and do them.  Even if this means I need to focus and sort through what’s floating around in my head.  Even if there’s more flotsam and jetsam than usual.

It’s Trust again, this movie that I love so terribly much.

It’s My Mad, Fat Diary.  It’s my eyes that are so dry they feel like they’re ringed with dust, it’s the dentist tomorrow and leaving work early and my energy diminishing before my very eyes.  It’s that I did 10 situps and did 20 minutes of cleaning and it’s you in all your branching forms, turned toward the horizon.  It’s the weather being so beautiful and my not being grateful for that.  It’s slurped down soup that my sister made.  It’s hoping I’m doing alright on this diet, trying my damndest, not minding what I’m missing until I think, briefly, on what might be and then think again on a year of doing this.  A year of striving.  Yet again.  It’s fine.  It really is.  I look in the mirror and I feel like, hey, well, I’m giving a shit.  Maybe nobody else can see it, but I’m laying down and doing sit-ups and not letting my teeth fall out of my head especially now that I have insurance, I’m letting myself think about a few things in a less restrictive manner.  Even if it’s things I know don’t have a chance in hell of happening anyway.

Something is happening.  I mean, it’s National Pizza Day and what did I have for dinner but soup and roasted cauliflower? And I don’t feel…I don’t feel like it’s the end of the world.  I know I’ll have it again.  In the full-fledged form I so adore.  Maybe even have it on the 21st when the writing group gets together for that purpose.  I mean, I have some willpower when I want it.  There’s a can of Diet Dr. Pepper sitting in our fridge that’s been there for a couple of weeks.  I’m not going to open it. I don’t want it, but more than that, I don’t want to start wanting it and to have no reason not to just let myself have it because one doesn’t hurt.

It’s the ukulele strum and shifting chords against this infant calluses.  It is not music, or music theory.  It is not for anyone’s ears. It’s not for anyone but me, but even so, just a tiny bit of dexterity with it and I feel…proud?  I feel like if I gave a tenth of a fuck.

Okay, time for a bath and a stretch and I have to get back to a couple letters that I’ve started, but thought I could maybe work on while I was at the office, but the office has been busy and yeah, I just can’t dawdle any more this evening in the places of might and possibility and nostalgia.

Just keep your head up/down and work.

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