Tuesday, August 22, 2017

Sixty-five minutes

Today's raging grief out only lasted 65 minutes—and I was mobile the whole time, not trapped in the shed like yesterday.

It started in the shower and I noticed the grief out tends to start there so on return following exercise I banned myself from ranting or thinking in the shower and demanded joyful music bellow forth instead.

I think I sang about the possum that lives in the three-foot enclave between our house and the one next door and how I probably shouldn't scare it by rage screaming into the shower wall given it lives on the other side. 

So it wasn't quite what I planned but it was musical. And, so far, holding steady.

I got a mission list of wellness to do and I did all of them save one and I'll go do that now. 

In a shrunken world you still have to do things; keep moving; don't sit still. 

Because you'll stew in your own rich juices. 

And I don't think anyone wants anyone else to experience their juices delivered in such a fashion—rich or otherwise.

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