Someone asked me recently, "What's it all for?" He was talking about the larger narrative. About life. About being human in this world. What kind of answer could I have mustered to satisfy that question? I looked at the bottom of my whiskey glass for a reply. My hands flitted around like lost birds trying to catch an answer. But really, how the heck should I know? I'm trying to figure this out for myself too. I am trying to figure out how to fit time for my writing and creative endeavors while holding down a full time job with all it's machinations and office politics while also dealing with my crazy family. My hands give me away as I clasp on tightly to my calm exterior, the cracks are showing on the thin veneer. I am trying to create quiet spaces for myself so I can watch the sunrise or sunset, trying to remember to breathe deeply. Feeling it when love surrounds me but also feeling the edges of a lonely soul. Aching to be closer to the ideal life, whatever that might look like. I crave a quietness that stems from the soul. Someone that's satisfied with who I am in this moment, instead of always feeling like I'm falling short from being a better person. There is so much to be done and we are wasting time not doing much. I am cat-sitting in Chelsea, keeping Otis and Tessa stocked up on munchies, water and catnip. Nice space with mewling kitties in the background. Must run, working on some poetry.
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