I woke up this morning with a more positive outlook than the one I took to bed with me, and I think I have all that I need. I am going to make some tea and I am going to get a little high and I am going to be 25 and I will not die soon. I woke up this morning to a kitten’s meow directed at a chirping tree and a breeze too chilly for August to remind me that this summer is passing too. I am inspired by my own personal eclipse. I am inspired by time as it is passing: too slowly and all at once. I am inspired by myself as I move on – as I take small steps like leaps and bounds and construct a plan from my last one’s dust. I am a stereotype for myself.
I woke up this morning, and I am ready to move forward. I am growing bolder, and I am ready to let go. I am sitting in a room I am sitting at a desk I am writing – no – I am typing. Typing like I live my life: with a general direction, but as I go. I hit the keys I tap tap tap I forget how to form my letters by hand. I pause. I remember how my mother taught me. I remember when I learned it all. I hit resume. I feel the familiar feeling of marks on ‘f’ and ‘j’ that tell my fingers where they are that help me place my hands – where they dance over words already forming in my head on my tongue – no – on the tips of my fingers, like the backs of my hands. Not known well enough, not well examined. I’ll never know it all.
I woke up this morning and I went back to work, and I thought about the things I am grateful for. I thought about how I am grateful for the things I have, but too often find myself waiting for too much more. I woke up this morning tired of waiting, and ready to take too much more. Maybe nothing more, but a different current happenstance: I am aiming for direct exchange I am aiming for renewed wide eyes focused on another fresh start. Every time I open my mouth, I am scared I will complain. Every time I open my eyes, I see I have enough, I see I have today.