on getting to the point

I’ve spent the last several months wrestling with time, and of course, time keeps winning. And that is the way of things. I accept the truth of that, but keep fighting just the same, always looking to eke out those few extra minutes.

I wonder how long I can subsist on this low-level adrenaline, when I already know the answer. Even so, I keep pushing. Most mornings I wake up and work on my story, struggling to remember what I wrote the day before. I have packed my mind with white noise, and there is no room for remembering. Lists take care of that for me, at least most of the time.

What I need is a week of writing, what I need is a vacation, what I need is always something other than the circle I stand in. Except it isn’t, I know this, and so I plod on, marching in place and putting down words I hope are coherent.

I refuse to give anything up. Even though it would be easier and smarter and even better, perhaps. There is a sense of urgency coursing through my veins, and I’m not sure where it comes from. In the dead of night I find it frightening, but by light of day I take advantage of this feeling, allow it to push me one step further.

Projects I started last autumn are slowly being finished. And maybe that’s what’s behind all of this, making up for the lost time of last year when being sick kept me from doing anything. I have more energy these days, and I take advantage of that, too, forging on.

And it’s all okay. Winter is coming and I will hibernate and rest more than I care to before spring arrives, to save me once again from my own ennui.

Life is full of contradictions. Cute curlicues and sharp-edged points. My focus shifts between them, but always, my eye seeks the light.

And it’s words that lead me there, even when time tries to stand in my way, even as we circle each other in the dance of existence.

This year, I lead, next year, who knows? I just close my eyes and listen for music.

My mind keeps humming.





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