26/365

Beer turns to beers at Stella's with an old old friend and it's now far past my bedtime. This, below, I scribbled earlier in the day. For those of you who are exhausted of me writing about being exhausted and who come here expecting something other, well, I don't know what to tell you except that these are my days at the moment, they're tight, bookended, focussed and I am exhausted. My body is tired and my brain has little energy to pound through something more. And while I realize that this is an exhaustion of luxury, and that due course will bring something other around, for now I am what I do and this is what I do.

From the journal, at the coffeeshop, this morning:
My body hurts. Aches. I feel as though there is an infinite amount of tiredness, an infinite amount of things inside me that can get bruised and battered and that shout at me to STOP, just STOP. But stopping isn't here, forward is the thing that is here right now. Focussing, stretching my fingers towards the ceiling and turning my head so my full profile is visible in the mirror. Running for four minutes, then running for four more. There is beauty in movement towards beauty there is the minute when I forget that I'm running the creation of new muscles when I stretch up and stretch down there is the enlargement of capacity of capability when my mind wins there is a day in the future without pain and with increase. You keep moving forward.

T.

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Nobody is like Patty Griffin. Live, and then again with the Lyrics. IN ALL CAPS, with a drop shadow. I feel minutely offended by that but again, that's an offense of luxury.