Mesquite and palo verde trees are blooming, and the semester is winding down even as the days heat up. It will be in the 90s today, pushing a hundred later next week. Full blown spring with a taste of summer.
As the days go by, I wonder what I will do with this summer. I always hope that I will write something over the summer, maybe even publish something.
Instead, I have written vignettes that turned into blogs that a few people read, but don't really care about and would not pay for.
So, why do I do this? What's my story about writing? I am trying to figure out what I have to say, what I think, what the thread is running through the chaos of my life, for starters.
I am also trying to shape, or form, who it is that resides beneath the waters of my unexamined psyche. I write to blow off steam too. I write to rant. I should be nice to my bride, but I am not. She is not so happy with me and I am not so happy with all the things she wants to do with my time. I keep running away.
Summer makes it worse. It's hot and tiring. I do manual labor because we are not satisfied with what we have. We are building a house and planning to live in another place. One home, one place, is not enough. Always moving, always hungry.
Will I finally wake up and begin to focus on the short time I have left on this earth? Or will I continue to act as if I will live forever and continue to put things off "until I have time?"
The "I'll get to it later" way of thinking has resulted in piles upon piles of stuff in my home and office. I am a hoarder of bike wheels, jackets, and bike shoes. I have too many socks. Too many loose ends.
That's the way it is. I need to look straight at it in the hot, clear light of summer. I hope the heat will burn off some of the fat in my thinking, my fat habits. We'll see how it goes.
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