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Nov. 26th, 2015 06:40 amI keep meaning to write, but you know how it is. Eventually I should say a lot of things. But mostly when I write these days, it tends to be fiction. I am hip deep in other, imaginary lives. Frankly, it is better that way. It leaves me less time to be anxious about my own mortality.
Learning to let go of my feelings about roads not taken and things that didn't come to pass is proving hard. I keep circling back. I don't like that about myself. This came to the top of my mind when a tangential friend did something that I am both envious and angry about. It is petty and dumb, and I need to let it go.
This week I've worked more in the past four days than I usually do, because of chaos at work. I was so exhausted I crawled into bed at 9:45 last night and fell asleep. I can't even remember the last time that happened. So I woke up in the pre-dawn dark, to the sound of rain. I made some cranberries for later. This year I'm roasting a hen and hopefully it won't be a disaster.
Learning to let go of my feelings about roads not taken and things that didn't come to pass is proving hard. I keep circling back. I don't like that about myself. This came to the top of my mind when a tangential friend did something that I am both envious and angry about. It is petty and dumb, and I need to let it go.
This week I've worked more in the past four days than I usually do, because of chaos at work. I was so exhausted I crawled into bed at 9:45 last night and fell asleep. I can't even remember the last time that happened. So I woke up in the pre-dawn dark, to the sound of rain. I made some cranberries for later. This year I'm roasting a hen and hopefully it won't be a disaster.