Starting up. February’s ending game.

I know I’ve been off my game, I’ve felt it. I haven’t been writing, but I’ve been full of thoughts about how I’ve not been writing and that, honestly, can just bite it. Its not enough, its not.

Its like the taxes that are sitting next to me on the desk. The actual job would take ten minutes. So, why are they sitting next to me on the desk and not winging their way to their destiny? Hmm.

So, I’m going to set myself the task of writing again, for real, again. I’m not holding myself to every day, but 5/7 would be pretty awesome. March it is. The anniversary of our discontent.

Sigh. all the ‘last times’ that we didn’t know about. a year ago. I predict not much writing about it really, i am not really producing a time-capsule for the sake of history, after all.

I find that the writing connects me to my deeper self, and i’m bolstered by the sharing of it. The imagination that tells me there are a small multitude cheering me on, and maybe doing their own thinking of their deeper selves.

I want to go back to that tether ball pole, idly waiting for players. I need the tether, in this chill spring. A whole tumult of change is arriving, again, and I do like the smell of the dirt in this season. (though the mud? questionable)

End of February. Beginning of March. What have we here?

What have we?

Love love,

me.