Your fire burns me like a favorite song
A song I should have known all along
I feel you move like smoke in my eyes
And that is why
Severely unmotivated this morning… I think it has something to do with the little sleep that I’ve been getting lately. I get home at 1 and it always takes me a while to come down and prepare for bed–I can’t just crash. But I’ll survive. At least my stitches came out yesterday. Susan snipped them while at the Gazette yesterday morning. Didn’t hurt at all, but the last one did pull a bit. Otherwise they were all ready to come out and were very cooperative.
My eyes are heavy with tiredness. Something in me wants to write and write and write, but something else has no idea what I’d write about. I could expostulate all day on the usual topics, and be nowhere because of it. Why is it that I think somehow the more I write or think about something the more likely it is to happen? It’s like I have subconscious delusions of superpowers–telekinesis and the ability to cause events with my mind. But come to think of it, no superhero I’ve heard of ever had that last ability. It’s definitely Godlike.
Haven’t written any poetry in a while. My muse has been absent these fall months. Speaking of months… November draws onward into December and the festivities therein. I look up and realize what time of the year it is, then think about family and friends and events planned and preparations and decorations and everything… Some people relish it, and I do, but in my current state of mind it’s all froth. I’m craving simplicity, peace, stillness, and not rushing to enjoy myself. If there was ever a contradiction of priorities, that’s it… I have pictures of grasping ornaments softly, hanging them gently in the low light of a floor lamp, reading on the sofa while a record plays on the turntable. I have the capacity to adapt to the hectic frenzy that I’m sure I’ll be caught up in soon enough, but for now I’ll just enjoy the momentary visions.