End of the year! End of the year!

I'm sick. I think I am developing the flu. I am hormonal. I am fresh off the press of my best friend's wedding. I am in love with life. Giddy for no apparent reason. Exhausted. Maybe my giddiness has to do with delirium from the fever.

I am hungry. It is the end of the year! The end of the year! My brother is convinced that this is our year. I am too. I was all smiles and friendliness on the plane and made a plane friend. I was all smiles and friendliness on the train after the plane. Especially when the street performer got on. I knew him.

I'd seen him for years on the streets of Michigan Ave, in all his silver statuesque glory. He was an ok MJ dancer, but his commitment to standing still was impressive. At first, I wondered why his silver costume was so thick and heavy, even in the summer, but eventually I got used to it.

Ten years I think I have been seeing him....which is why when he got on just a couple stops after O'Hare I was inclined, in all my happiness, to talk to him and thank him for years of delightful entertainment and for building for me a Chicago downtown experience full of nostalgia.

But before I could open my mouth he began to speak. His voice, heard for the first time by me, was resonant, easily carrying over the full but not crowded train car. Was he asking for money? Not entirely surprising, but a small disappointment. But no, he was not asking for money. He was preaching, and we became his unwilling subjects.

I began to feel trapped as he insisted on my evilness...he spoke of being saved and how the only way we could go to heaven was to accept JC as our savior. Not the false gods Buddha, or Muhammad or Mary. Who was Mary, he asked? He talked incessantly, each minute seeming an hour. The couple behind me, also fresh off a plane and loaded with suitcases, looked amazed to be having their very own Chicago crazy experience. They hid smiles behind their winter gloves and determinedly continued to stare at their subway maps.

He kept mentioning that by the time we were in our graves it would be too late, and we would NEVER get out of that place of double hockey sticks if we died before recognizing JC as the only God...and I felt....really dirty. Because it really was hatred and ignorance being spouted, intolerance, really, and judgment, and assumption. And I found it hard to stay connected to the Love of God in that moment. My world was shattered a bit because I never would have thought this man would be so....black and white and forceful about his world and opinion. I did not think I would ever be fearful of having a conversation with him because he might remind me of what an awful person I am.

Suffice it to say, my happiness was dampened for as long as it took for me to get home and into the warmth of my own apartment. I still have it with me....the happiness. Along with the flu....

Happy Holidays!

tshirt dress?

Dear Fellow Airport Patron,

Thank you for confirming my heretofore previously unfounded belief that the tshirt dress is not a dress. As evidenced by your ass hanging out where your stylish big bag was causing your dress to ride up, it is proven that the tshirt dress is a shirt.

If you were wearing leggings and not thin tights, your ass would have been covered...better. And if shouting down the way would have helped save you some embarrassment, I wouuld have done it. But at this distance, more people would have looked at my shouting...

Getting My Money's Worth

This is what is called *getting my money's worth.*

It's cold and rainy outside, but not cold enough for the delightful waterproof winter boots I bought so I decided to wear my other boots. And sure enough, before I got the full four blocks to the train, my toesies were soaked to the skin with winter rain. I thought it might happen, but that it would be better than the sweaty hot feet that would eventually make my new waterproof boots smelly. I am not sure this is better now.

Oh the challenges of being a pedestrian in Chicago. Oh. Oh.

As far as getting my money's worth, I recently found a job worth applying for and since I have not had a chance to update my computer and/or fix it, I have had to find (again) creative ways to get access to a modern, working computer to update my resume and write cover letters. Sadly, today, this meant I was for the internet cafe, where I had to pay $21.95 for unlimited all-day use, or $18 for 2 hours. I knew I had about 2 hours of work in me, but would it be enough time? Would I end up feeling inspired and articulate, or just focused enough to tweak the changes and reset passwords and just think about writing? If I got inspired, I knew I would need more than 2 hours, but it is also Saturday night so why the H-E-double-hockey-sticks would I really want to spend more than 2 hours here?

But it's my future! So I invested the $21.95, which seems so steep when everywhere has free wi-fi. But I finished my changes, I DID feel inspired and wrote what I feel is a delightfully ok cover letter, and I was all ready to go about 2 hours and 35 minutes into it. Then I thought to myself, that's like $10 an hour to be on the internet. That feels yuck yuck. And I have no pointless internet surfing to do!

So I am blogging. That is my solution. I am hungry. My feet have been wet for about 4 hours now. (I went a bought a dress for Kiyos wedding next week before I came here) But I want it to be at least less than $10 an hour for me to be here in this quiet and dark cafe....staring at a white screen listening to the passing cars in the rain outside. If I stay another 22 minutes it will be $7 an hour.

Sigh. I really am postulating. I actually want to go home, make dinner and watch a movie. Actually I think I will do that.

Bye.

Sometimes Life is Bittersweet

I've had an insane amount of clarity lately. My twin brother keeps telling me this is our year, and I am inclined to agree with him, although what it will look like, I will not begin to imagine.

Every moment of every day I am in touch with my emotions, the driving factors behind them, my desires and goals and weaknesses and strengths and every second I have a two-hour conversation in my head waiting to happen.

Suffice it to say, I am eternally grateful for my blessings, my friends and my enemies. I am so glad to have suffered and to continue to suffer for growth and wisdom. I read not too long ago that joy is a natural state of the heart and not something affected by external influences and that could not be more true for me.

But the sadnesses in my life are also ever present, missed opportunities, choices made blindly that led to something lost, it keeps me somber, and grounded. It keeps me perserverant. It keeps me determined. It keeps me thankful.

I wish I could express in words what I am feeling...my soul expands and envelops life in one single movement. I can't wait to hug my friends.

Quotes to Share

"My only joy in this swiftly-passing world was to tread the stony path of God and to endure hard tests and all material griefs. For otherwise, this earthly life would prove barren and vain, and better would be death. The tree of being would produce no fruit; the sown field of this existence would yield no harvest. Thus it is my hope that once again some circumstance will make my cup of anguish to brim over, and that beauteous Love, that Slayer of souls, will dazzle the beholders again. Then will this heart be blissful, this soul be blessed."

"If only thou couldst know what a high station is destined for those souls who are severed from the world, are powerfully attracted to the Faith, and are teaching, under the sheltering shadow of Baha'u'llah! How thou wouldst rejoice, how thou wouldst, in exultation and rapture, spread thy wings and soar heavenward--for being a follower of such a way, and a traveler toward such a Kingdom."

'Abdu'l-Baha

thread bare v beard

Seems a little unfair that after just a few short years of threading my eyebrows that they now refuse to grow back fully. I stopped going to the mahboobs on devon in hopes that my former medium thick brow would find the courage to return. I didn't hate them all that much, I just enjoyed discovering my arch.

But alas, my lost hairs have decided to move.

To my chin, cheek and stache. It ain't pretty and it ain't fair.

past memories of lost friendships

it was the guarded gaze of a celebrity though we had been friends for months
delightful moments had been turned into cautious tales of woe and you distanced
yourself from some imagined love song.

how many shoulders do i have to shake before my words and actions
which are one in this case
are taken for truths.

how many knock-you-over-the-head hints do i have to pass
before you remember you were the one
who laughed at the jokes and pursued the
kindredness of spirits

how many friendships end before they begin
how many moments are lost to confusion
how many days does it take to make you see
how many words are hard to hear
and how many songs can make you free

remember this moment. the one before alienation-
the one before our truths are irrevocably severed
from one another

remember this moment. when we love to love each other.

Candlelight Hero

I went for a run this morning in the dark. I made ham and eggs and hash browns for breakfast in the dark this morning. I showered in the dark this morning. I dressed in the dark and made lunch in the dark all before having to leave for work, early, this morning.

All this is a lie.

I actually did it all with inadequate candle light. Not enough candlelight to do my eyes any justice. I burned my thumb from holding the lighter too long to catch the nubs that are moonlighting (get it?) as candle wicks in each of my worn-down candles.

I went to work just as it started to rain.

I welcome you, storm of the century. Please allow my power to come back on in time for my milk to be ok.

Queueing it...

Oh X-Files, I've tried. I just don't think I can anymore. Apparently there does come a time when one cannot go on. I thought maybe, like with Buffy, I could power through the badness to something meaningful but it's not happening. So it is with not any regret, and with a little bit of joy, that I bansih the rest of Season 7 from my queue. Time to focus on the newly released seasons of The Office, Supernatural and Medium.

inside memorylane.

If I could live inside memory I would hover in your laughter and flit in and out of your smile. I would saunter past awkward moments and jeer at them while simultaneously banding with my historied self on all fronts. I would memorize moments of forgetfulness and take pictures of conversations where anothers wisdom made me remember to love. I would try to hold myself and be my friend in the darkness and I would dry all of my tears with a happy cloth. Mostly though, I would get caught up again in the might-have-beens and should-have-dones and I'll forget there is a present to be lived and a me to be loved now and that laughter is just around the corner.

Vignettes

Case of the Mondays....

He looked like Thing 1 or Thing 2 from a distance, with a haircut. When she got closer his smallish frame and unfortunate brown sweater distinguished themselves in her view. His shoulder bag, which weighed down his entire body, gave him an awkward shape from a distance.

Observations on an Afternoon Train

The squareness of his head was offensive, offset in no small part by his casual command of the doorway, alligator-pointed shoes tapping in impatience. He looked like one of those people who would remain purposefully oblivious of train etiquette, luckily the train was not crowded so her indignant rage could not rear it's ugly head. Each time the train stopped and the doors opened, he slouched even more into the entryway, khaki pants and polo-shirted alertness a stark contrast to the tired suits and melancholy stares of the other passengers. Where was he going at five o'clock if not home to eat and prepare for the rest of a cyclical week of habit?

having a hard time....

I really wish I wasn't alone right now.

On to the second stage...

I woke up this morning genuinely believing that I would be ok. That the feeling that I had the day before yesterday would return...you know, minor frustration about a job thing, cautious anticipation about exactly 3 new friendships, joy and relief of my sister's triumph and warmth care and concern for my niece and brother whom I love more than anything, sadness for the end of summer and contentment at my last long Saturday of volleyball. It was a good way to feel, not overly happy but content.



I was naive perhaps-or more likely-determinedly hopeful and willful, that the sheer familiarity of losing one of my best friends in an unexpected manner would cause the process to be easier and quicker. Five years ago when Molly died I was sad in waves, I knew the privacy of sobs and the comfort of friends in the speechless moments, when the pain was a knot in my stomach and the water trickled but more often dried up completely. People turned to me, because they knew of our closeness, they turned to me for comfort and that role made it easier to ease into my own healing. I could forget for awhile while someone else asked why. I knew. I hurt and I knew and I was confidant to see her again and I was thankful that our last words were loving and complete.



This time is different. Harder. Because I live in a community more defined and more enmeshed in the loss of a good man, and because we live in a world where everything happens faster and more digitally, I find myself feeling rushed. As much as I want to scoff at the 5 stages of grief, I was perfectly content to live in denial for a few more days. But here I am exposed to everyone else's sadness, everyone else's experiences and love. And I just want to feel my own right now. And I feel selfish and shameful. I can literally hear him talking in my head right now, saying those ridiculously comforting and goofy things he would always say when I was sad, or struggling. And I want to continue to hear that. But it's really hard to hear him when it seems like everyone else is shouting.

FB Post #3

Leslie is in a dim fog.

FB post #2

LESLIE is taking a break from youth for the week.

FB post #1

in part because i abhor the 'TMI' aspect of the facebook posts and the tweeting phenomena, and in part because nonetheless, in moments of relative solitude, certain thoughts demand expression stemming purely from egotistical desire to be heard by someone, (even if that someone is in cyberspace) i shall, on occasion...post FB-like thoughts on here....away from the eyes of the indelibly public forum of FB but available to my close cyberfriends who occasionally visit this site.

i shall even use my name in third-person, since due to my FB exposure, I now regularly think of myself in the third person.

Leslie hates when, having eaten lunch just a mere 20 minutes ago, she finds herself hungry again after false fullness. She wonders why salads have such a popular and strict following sometimes....

mixed emotions

i had a cat for about 4 weeks, big with large claws. much to my sadness, he managed irreparably to destroy a $300 air mattress. i tried to keep it away from him but he got into the closet and got his claws into the material. i have a friend coming to stay with me in two days and my bed is broken and gives me terrible back pain and now i have nowhere for her to sleep. or me, for that matter. there is nothing i can do about it now but i am fighting an anger and disappointment. i wish i had some money to buy a bed or a new mattress. sometimes i regret decisions i make that make my life harder and then i feel terribly guilty about it. i am all mixed up about it. i am still recovering from joblessness and debt, which makes me very painfully aware at how destitute i have been in the $ department all these years. i have been blessed enough to have some things, but not enough to be able to replace them when they are destroyed. i have that song running through my head though....im coming up. i want the world to know. i just hit my shins a couple times along the way.

Not *really* ready...

I have, for the last two weeks or so, had my niece staying in town and been taking a hand in caring for her.

I love her terribly dearly.

(yes, there's a but...)


BUT!

There is something to be said for the preparation, mental, spiritual and otherwise, that goes into having a pregnancy, or, one step further, planning a pregnancy, then having the pregnancy, and then being a parent. Although I suspect that no amount of preparation will ever fully prepare you for parenthood, just on these few short days that she has spent living with me I have realized rather thoroughly how NOT ready I am to be a parent.

I repeat. I love this 4 year old with a great passion.

But I am thankful that my brother is such a devoted father and comes and takes her home at the end of our nights together.

Funny thing is, when she is gone, I will miss her achingly. So strange.

Anecdote:

Last week she very brazenly declared how much she detested apples, apple juice and anything else remotely apple-y. She spent about 10 minutes detailing it. She also told me about several other things she detested. But when we got to the store to go grocery shopping and I asked her what juice she wanted, she asked for apple juice.

all in due time....

been spending a lot of time with my very intelligent, very socially and environmentally conscious friend liz lately. and as i expected, my inevitable gravitation toward becoming environmentally responsible has begun.

i have always resented (a little bit) those greenpeace folks who stand on the street (sometimes) shaming you into awareness. 'don't you care about the environment?' they always ask. loaded questions......try not to win someone over through guilt! and remind me that i am broke and not generous..ugh. i always was very conscious of my constant internal and external struggles with racism and sexism; and not so much environmental. 'we each pick our battles,' i would say. now that i think about it, i don't know any african-american women who are actively environmentalist, and i'd like to say (but mostly because it makes me feel better) that it is because we really do have enough on our plate with the daily disrespect and ignorance we experience as black women. it's enough to be actively feminist or actively in support of unity and equality, and racially-conscious, right? i do constantly strive to detach from injustice and forgive those actions or lack thereof, that are hurtful, racist and sexist, and that can actually take up a lot of emotional space, alongside with combatting my own regular human materialistic desires and challenges on the path to God. so who needs to be all about veganism and environmental this and that....who has time?

my carbon footprint has always been low. i have never owned a car, and being a 32-year-old woman, i consider that a decent-sized contribution by default. i have always been a public transit kind of gal, and i do about 30-40% organic these days, recycle when i can, and reuse all my plastic bags or bring my own to the grocey store. i recently purchased some of those energy-saving light-bulbs.....but i still leave the water running to warm up before i get in the shower (bad heating-but is it an excuse?) and i don't actively pursue education, movies, documentaries, or books. i usually run in the other direction.

until now. i think in the long run i was afraid to have something else to feel guilty about. i have these sentiments, these goals i work towards and when i fall off the wagon, i beat myself up about it. i know that being ready to accept change is oftentimes the first BIG step to bettering your life and soul, and so i will not dwell too long over it. but what if i commit in my head to eat all organic, and then break down and eat something from mcdonalds? nevertheless, the journey is begun. how far it will take me, i do not know.

i just watched supersize me. food inc is next, then fast food nation. then recycled materials and energy-saving products. who knows how far it will go. who knows....

Channeling Gollum....

Nassty weathers, nassssty rains...filthy, wet hobbitsess and humans.....

little updates

we have been blessed with very, very beautiful days- sunny, mid-70s, bit of a breeze, and height of spring greenery. makes me love the world and long for lazy mornings in bed with the air on my face and sun floating through my waking dreams....alas for the job and the money-making and overall responsibilities of life.

last night was the first night i could sleep on my left side after a nasty tumble down a flight of stairs about a week and a half ago. joy for healing.

a friend of mine is having trouble with saying no to men who are basically amazing/good but that she is not attracted to at all. makes me envious and angry. makes me feel all of my unworthiness. i feel her struggle, wanting to have it work, so badly. but i feel mixed emotions about the fact that the men are seemingly misled as well. also feel pretty fed up that the men don't get that she is not attracted to them. she is showing all sorts of signs. i'm big on signs. let it go. move on to better things, o men. do it now. she is too nice and too longing. i am mean. i would tell it straight.

Springtime in Philly

The layers of meaning that undercut daily living are hard to communicate with simple spoken words, sometimes. Especially when the words that are spoken are delivered to ones who don't know or don't care. Which is why I knew that my last few days would inspire some bloggable moments-I need the space to communicate the depth of the feelings I am experiencing, the span of joy, and the sheer wonder of something as simple as a business trip to Philadelphia.

The simple words are thus: I've been doing well at work lately (yay!) and as such, it has been approved by management to send me to a conference to manage my new clients who have given our company lots of money. Just so happens that I have family in Philly, so it works out that I get to visit them too. 'Good for you,' people say. 'That should be nice...' And it is. When I see the glazed looks in the eyes of colleagues, I want to tell them, imploringly, that this is family...FAMILY! that I never really got see that much. When a gal I know scoffs and sarcastically congratulates me on being sent to the worst city on earth, I proudly tell her my dad grew up in the worst part of town in Philly and that I love it for that reason, and when she back pedals her humor and unenthusiastically and quietly says 'great,' I just brush it off.

I grew up in MN, mixed race background-black, native american, and a little irish- adopted by a white mother and black father. There were five of us kids, and though I wouldn't have called us poor, we weren't trekking to disneyland for vaca every year. We rarely traveled far as a family. We drove twice a year to Chicago because my mom's family was there, but never to visit dad's family in Philadelphia. Plane tickets for 7 people plus hotel was almost always out of the question. So we were alone in MN, the seven of us, in a way that I now come to see is not necessarily that common in the US. Most people I know seemed to live near some extended family while growing up. It was just us against the world. And I was smart, so I got sent to that 'special' school where there were not a lot of children dark like me. I made friends with my classmates, who were mostly white. My mom was white. Didn't mean much to me, foster mom was white too. I was fine with it. As I got older, I realized others were not. I also realized, when I got older, what I missed by not having easy access to my black heritage and family. Poor mom didn't know how to do hair, to name just one thing, and as I began to face a racist world, an ignorant world, that tried desperately to fit me into its limited understanding of what a person with my skin shade should look like, sound like, think like and act like, I felt the ostracization that many people of color feel, without the real benefit of a strong family culture to back it up. Dad was there, but busy and did not a community make.

I made do. My family, which is very colorful and lots of shades of brown and yellow and white, is strong and in love with each other now, and we have a bond based on that deserted-island like experience we had growing up-but my sister and I have thirsted for that black feminine love that we had to create for ourselves. I love my mom with every bit of my soul and all that she does and continues to do, but I firmly believe it does take a village to raise a child, and especially with interracial families, I know I will work hard to fulfill that need of diversity in role models for my children.

Anyway, suffice it to say, when I say I am going to Philly-I am GOING to Philly, I'm finding that lost piece of my soul, the one that rarely is recognized or valued or nurtured in the way I've needed it to be. The part of me a certain Miss JW says I have a hard time seeing reflected beautifully in the world. I've been here for three days, and I have so many more bloggable stories about Aunt Bea and our journey to Jenkinville, and Aunt De and her insatiable joy and love...There is a big party tonight, too, with all the cousins that are here and Aunties that are still alive....I hope I get it down in writing, as I want to remember every last moment of this weekend. I want to soak it up, suck it out and drink it all over again when I get thirsty.

Traveling up

I have had a good few months at work. I feel hesitant to talk about it as though somehow putting it in print and celebrating it will jinx it. But Lord knows I've talked about the hard times enough, this has gotta be the thing to do. Immortalize it, right? There is not much to speak of except at this moment, I have been promoted and I have made in two months what it took me almost half a year to make last year.

It's taking a lot longer to 'get back on my feet' than I thought but I am getting close. The realization is that I was off my feet for much longer than 7 months-more like two years and seven months because I was so underpaid. Rather than go into specifics, though, let's just say things are good.

Time for a new entry, and yet no time to write

So much has been happening in terms of work and teaching the Faith, I am so excited with my life right now. Looking forward to the changes that are coming!!!!

Gotta go though!

hater

my skin hates me right now. even though i am doing all the right things. cursed hormones. cursed baby-maker. grr. arrrgh.

Ready for the Fast

Lots of good things are coming.

a slightly shameful realization

Two weeks ago I got to wear a $9K piece of jewelry for all of 4 hours. It was beautiful and heavy with 6 karats worth of diamonds interspersed throughout it's silver.

It's the singular most expensive piece of ANYTHING I have ever worn.

And I liked it.

Arrival...

has my soul been nourished
am I seeing it flourish
is this the price of prayers and dreams
a reality that seems
better than anything
finding the joy in the little things
satisfaction as the bell rings
listening to my spirit sing

-Challenged

I've been running into a problem of late-can guarantee it's a problem you've had, although I wonder as to the current severity of my little challenge. Thinking maybe I could be classified as....something.

Has to do with date-writing. Every day at work I fill out these sheets that are meant to keep track of my call-backs for potential deals I am working on, and every day I write the date down, and every time I do, I do it wrong. Yeah, you say, of course I have done this before. Absolutely, and I agree that you have. These days the main challenge is the automation. I hurriedly scrawl, day after day: one-slash-twenty-nine-slash-one...or twenty-eight, or whatever actual day it is. But after I so confidently circle that last zero, my pen falters, and I think, "No, wait, that's wrong, I did it wrong, what goes there next?" And without thinking I follow it with a seven. "Damn it. Not a seven!" It is not 2007. Switching from writing OH-something to writing ONE-something is going take me awhile to get the hang of.

More often, when I am writing, I do pause long enough to stop my pen from writing an eight or a seven (or one time, a six) and I SQUEEZE another 1 between the slash and the zero. Looks cramped and funny and makes me wonder why I bother since no one sees these papers but me and on occasion, my boss, who does not care one iota. But once, without blinking an eye or swallowing my gum, I wrote: one-slash-fifteen-slash-ninety-seven. Yes folks, my brain wanted good ole' young 2010 to be long, gone and dead 1997. Hot damn my subconscious is something else. Oh to be 19 again....

Not sure how long this will last, don't remember the transition from the 90s to the uh....OH OHs (?) because it was OH SO long ago. Know what I mean? Want me to shut up? Ok.

Evening full of happiness

Ah, I cannot wait until evening... when I will make delicious chili mole, cozy up in a blanket and watch a movie until I fall asleep. Work has been emotional and tough this week and last, and I am hankering for a cuddle with my blanket.

Next week-Book 6!

I'm gonna talk about excercise because it's interesting you can't do anything about it.

I just did things with a barbell that I didn't even know could be done. I also think I may have sweat out my entire left lung. Good thing, too, because I hear you don't really need those things and who needs to carry around the extra weight?

The good news, I discovered today, is I am back to my regular size since before I got my job in September. I am still reeling from the fact that in just a few short months, I nearly undid all the hard work that got me to the point of being able to run a 10k race and swim an entire mile without stopping, and getting hotter to boot. I mean, I knew I took a few liberties when the regular paycheck started coming in-eating out more often because I could, celebrating, not working out because I was tired after a full days' work (it's hard adjusting after 7 months of sleeping in, you know), but I also think that without my knowing it, my metabolism changed yet again without telling me. I mean, just because I am in my thirties DOES NOT give my metabolism the right to not communicate or give ample warning. How dare she. That bitch.

I'm feeling a bit saucy today. Perhaps it's the endorphins that got all riled up from my 1-hour Muscle Max class, or perhaps it's because I had another delightful evening with a good friend-good conversation and good food followed by good sleep. All my anxieties were addressed in the night-time meeting I had with my consciousness and though I am ever-conscious of the ways that I have to go down a certain path to acquire some goals of mine, I have some words and some friends that give me the rejuvenation that I need. And this nifty gym membership.

I forgot how great it is to feel challenged physically-this class reminded me of when I used to take Bikram yoga. That was a good work-out. I'm looking forward to getting back on track and seeing if I really CAN do a triathlon. It's a long way to go from now, I have a hard time finishing three miles at a decent speed in running, but I really still feel very certain that this is something I want to do for myself. Anyhoo, my thoughts have all dried up and I think it is because I am now hungry. Off to lunch!

A viable expression of the moment.

At the moment I am not full of bloggable thoughts so much as full of love and conviction. I am not so full of bloggable thoughts but I am full of the world and of family and of thankfulness and the strong desire to do laundry. I am full of the consternation of wonder, wonder as to the location of my office key-card, which disappeared not two hours ago and wonder as to the future of my love life and my closet. I am not so full of bloggable thoughts but I am full of desire to do well and succeed and to get to this ever-reachable point of financial security and ultimately full of the desire to detach from ever so many nasty petty thoughts that interject themselves into my brain betwixt happy and joyous and thankful. At this moment I am not so full of bloggable thoughts but I am full of faith and fantasy and the certainty that at the moment, I can see the forest for the trees and it is ever so lovely and I am full of the need, the drive, the necessity of bringing this beautiful forest into the vision and sight of those I love most dearly who are currently struggling with the need for a new prescription. I am full of food too, and muscles and fat and veins and blood and most assuredly blessed and infinite spirit that though I cannot touch or taste, is the thing that fills most completely and feels most strongly throughout the moments.
At this moment I am full of many things, many words, many thoughts, many hopes, many dreams and though it seems, outwardly, that I am passive and sitting still, I am full of movement and progression, and if you give me a cup, I'll give you your fill.