Indeed, these are little flecks

Well, I am not used to working 6 days a week.  My body is reminding me of this fact.  It is Saturday, my day off, and I've been tired and sniffly and coughy all day.  The one day a week I don't have to work, my body will not let me enjoy it.  

Sometimes I cry for no reason at all.  At least I don't think there is a reason.  Maybe there is and I just don't know it.  I may not be looking as deep as my tears are.  It's weird how things seem to connect.  Like right now, I'm listening to a song ("I want you to want me", if you're curious) and the lyrics feature the words "crying."  I heard these lyrics after I typed those last couple of sentences.  

I should probably be sleeping.  But if I was sleeping, these words may have never existed and you would be doing some other that reading them.  What would you be doing right now if you weren't reading these words?  Do you regret not doing this?  I know that I don't regret you not doing this.  Does that make it better?

I have heard people say they are busy so many times.  I don't really feel that I am that busy all the time.  I don't think they are either, but I would never tell them that.  I guess busy is just when you have plans.  No one has plans 24/7.  People have to sleep.  I guess sleeping is planned, kind of, but I'm not sure if sleeping is being busy.  Sometimes people will say that they are too busy to sleep.  I say I am too busy sleeping to be busy.

I could be happy right now.  I could also be sad.  Or angry, or lazy.  I haven't quite figured out if I determine this or if other people, things and events make this decision for me.  It is probably a combination of myself and the outside world.  I want the outside world in my life.  I think these external factors cause more extreme moods and change my mood quicker than if I change my way of thinking.

Sometimes I wish my imagination was my real life.

My mom told me yesterday that my first grade teacher gave me bigger parts in all of our little class plays just to make me talk.  She knew I was quiet and tried to break me from my shell.  I was baby bear once.  I got to wear the costume and everything.  She was one of my favorite teachers.

Now it is my time to connect all of these thoughts.  This was not my original purpose, but it is now my pursuit.  Here goes.  Too much work makes me a busy person who needs sleep.  All of this work makes me  overwhelmed and I cry just because.  I imagine I do not feel like this and all is happy.  And the last part about baby bear was just a bonus.  Bah, so much about me.  What about you?  And that guy whose name you forgot who you see every once in awhile?  Or even the things and ideas that don't have names.  They deserve more attention.  Open eyes and open hearts.  This is how life should be.

The ABC's of Love

Adoring boys carefully discover every fragment given, hoping insight justifies keeping love magically new, opening paths quietly, reaching silent trusts underneath visions withheld, xeoroxing youthful zest.

Mathematica

(Re-posted for your viewing pleasure.)

If there was a number that equaled the difference between your words and your thoughts, what would that number be? I think sometimes we are unable to tell the meaning of songs and poetry because this number is so small. As we move into our thoughts, confusion and uneasiness erupts. Concrete. Words. We. Understand. But we still sing along to the melodies.

thoughts and hopes and futures

Tomorrow I will wake alone, sleep in late.  My eyes will hover between my mind's ever-flowing imagination and the brick wall of reality that is my bed and my room and my house and my life that I have created for myself.  Perhaps the wall is made of straw today, or maybe concrete.  But I will hide behind this shield so secure, never climbing over, never kicking down or making a mark on its surface.  Never yet.  I back away from the wall, creating an uncalming distance between my enemy and I.  I forget the pretty and act only on the determination looming so heavy in my mind.  I look behind me one last time.  It is fading fading blurry mess I want to get away.  I turn my eyes ahead of me.  I run.  Forward.  These speeds are unknown to my delicate body.  The wall grows and grows, not wanting me to pass, wanting me to remain still and safe I ignore it.  A bruise becomes of my body as I climb and punch and scream into the silence.  I am afraid but it does not matter.  The hope I feel overtakes the fear and the pain, overtakes everything.  Will you be waiting on the other side of your wall?