Category: daily

You lose your earth for your sky.

Sleepless.

…there were people I wanted to be tall around and I mostly accomplish that with boots but you know boots aren’t really for walking they’re for promenading so you’re going around in stilts in a way. You won’t fall but when you think about them, and for all the pleasure of being a little higher the tradeoff is your own absence from presence. You’re losing your own fealty to the ground. Which can’t be ignored. You lose your earth for your sky.

Come on, Eileen. Protect me you.

Feeling overly awake but not conscious enough, I asked myself today whether you are my earth or whether you are my sky.

hot pot cures all. and be radishing.

Notes from the weekend:
– When in doubt about how to get fruit when there are no low-hanging ones in sight, climb the damn tree.
– Say yes to pie.
– Sometimes softness can lead to strength.
– Write down your dreams right when you wake up.
– Be brave enough to face into the wind and run on.
– Accidentally walked into a learn-how-to-sexy-dance class. Didn’t learn anything new. What does that mean?
– Choose the one who laughs loudly and with heart.
– What you learn after you think you know it all will probably be the most important thing in life.
– Hot pot cures all winter woes. And when in doubt about how to impress the girl, get the better fish balls with roe inside. And open a Cabernet.

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What is productivity?

“What is productivity?” I thought to myself as I put in my contacts after being awake for 3 hours.

I’ve been shaken into consciousness during the drifting end of sad dreams for three nights in a row. I have this candle next to my bed that I frantically light so that I can write down my dreams in really bad handwriting before I close my eyes again.

I never actually make it back towards sleep.

This morning by 8am I had made mango green tea, completed sun salutations, taken a portrait of how the sun paints my front door orange, made sweet potato hash for breakfast, recorded poems in voice memos to send to several friends, watched the sun rise, written not only the version of love letters that I do send to him, but also the version of love letters that I keep to myself.

“What is productivity?” I asked myself, fighting the feeling that I hadn’t done anything “useful” or checked anything off my to-do list. I received a response back about one of my recorded poem voice memos. “This is my favorite one yet. It’s so simply executed by you, so deceptively subtle. I love it, I’m going to let it inspire me to write this morning.”

I pull the covers over my bare legs and watch the sky work quietly to paint itself another color as day breaks. As it does every day without record or restraint.