Feeling only slightly inspired, I check in. Today life is a load of laundry, warm and piled high. It is a grocery list left in the parking lot while I aimlessly wander the aisles inside. A walk in the evening charting the Christmas lights (they range from garish to worse, as usual) and whistling at the dog.
It is these moments, I can't seem to come up with any more than what they are, and yet I check in. It is momentum on a Monday, building slow and deliberate.
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2 comments:
So far, you're one or two rewrites away from turning your last 4 posts into poems. Think about it.
or one or two less than awful myspace entries...yuck! anyway a little bird once told to write something, anything, every day. see what happens.
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