opportunities for humility are daily, legion, and profound.
everything spins out in labyrinthine array as I seem to tread in place– wake, reach for spectacles and smarter-than-me phone, page through virtual emptiness, and declare, “poo and things made of poo.”
consider posting this line to my facebook status. reconsider.
decide instead to post it to my blog.
declare a regimen of less reflection, more writing, vomitous or otherwise outright. righting.
(in light of, I must inquire: what is it about water– bathwater, shower steam, dishtub– that unfixes the internal glues and gets things flowing at the very least paper- and PC-conducive moments? by the time I reach pen or keyboard, all the patterns that seemed so finely intricate and scintillant instants previous have fled, and I sit in the flood of white page, giddy winking cursor tweaking the last nerve. yet as I’ve declared it, so it must be.)
this morning in the raining grey of nominally neighborly hoods I attended a political breakfast in support of hydraulics and pistons in a machine I don’t begin to fathom. the alderman intoned, “it’s all, ultimately, about service.” so, shrug off the majority of maneuvering malarkey and let it wash away down the gutter.
besides which: redemption through action, yes? of course, mindful action, preferably. too often amidst the spin it’s tricky timing to pick and choose– the darting hand makes hasty grabs and hopes for sanguine (distinctly not: bloody or crushed) outcomes.
some days I’m quicker of reflex. other days I find I’ve barged in on conversations taking place beside me at the table that I realize only belatedly are private, or at least not altogether communal.
for lack of better modus operandi, I engineer a smile until tired facial muscles drag me home.