Hope

a poem:

hope, like the curve of the horizon,
promises
that the world is round,
that i won't fall off the edge,
and that the sun will rise
with every tomorrow.


and a journal:

hope, like the curve of the horizon. hope, like flying, like loving, like breathing, like waking up every morning and living and living and living. hope like peace and hope like reconciliation. hope like goodness and beauty. hope like friends who smile and lovers who hug. hope like families who remain. hope like a god who is and is and is and is for all eternity and until for-ever and until everything is nothing and everything and hope becomes peace and there are no more words.

Inspired By Hapa

I will give myself:

time.
a hug.
a push.

some sun.
a safe space.
time to be creative.

a break.
assurance.
care.

soothing skills.
healthy habits.
a new thought process.

a challenge.
some flowers.
words.

Things I Can't Face

It'll be the sallow tragedy,
my rebirth--
when it's realized.
I am fleeting;
I never would be.
I always wasn't.

Back on the Horse/Bike/Wagon, etc.

Once a writer, always a procrastinator.

Laurie says just write. So, I do.

I was in Santa Monica with Gary yesterday.

The weather was awesome, especially considering it's February and the rest of the country is covered in snow, with the exception of Hawaii, according to NPR. Good ole sunny SoCal-i-for-nai-ay. We had a great time watching the street performers, the passers-by, the toddlers in sunglasses dropping their parents' dollar bills into the hats of the street performers and giving those performers a toddler-thumbs-up at the prompting of their generous parents.

I've been kind of bummed recently about the whole job thing. (I won't depress you with all the NPR details like, "One-third of the people who collected food at food banks in January had college degrees." Apparently we're in a recession.)

But as I was walking around sunny, blue-sky-ed Santa Monica, I reminded myself that I am happy and healthy, loved and loving. How can I be ungrateful? When I freak out, stress out, I lose my sense of artist observation. I miss the little girl at the organic Italian Cafe' who's so excited to be eating Kraft cheese with her chubby finger. Why would I want to miss out on what's around me?

So here's to the moment. Cheers.

P.S. I saw a dog driving a car on the freeway. And I laughed. So much.