(Implied Proposition) Thursdayish

05/15/2008 6:38 AM – 7:03 AM

Whoop. Up and away. I ran last night. I do this quite a bit of late. Four times a week to be exact. For the last five weeks. Sweet. But I don’t seem to be losing any of my tummy. But I do feel better in everyday life. Pretty sky out my window. A little chilly, but not bad.

My writing has slowed down considerably of late. Except for the instants. I’m surprisingly dedicated to them. Ya’ll get to see like, one out of five. Oooo, warmy colors on the houses, clouds parting. I’m slowly prepping myself for the move. Starting to say goodbye without saying any words yet. Happiness becomes a matter of character in its predictable rhythms, and less a matter of personality. But a pleasant personality still works for many situations. You hold on for the first part of the drop and then throw your hands in the air and whoop as you near the upward turn.

Moving, the half-life of romance is six months. The half-life of the honeymoon state is eighteen. It takes on average, eleven weeks for a habit of exercise to become normal. So I’ve got six and a half to go. And sometime soon (soon being very difficult to define), I’ll have to give up the smokes and figure out how not to think about them all the time. Oooo, cramp in my left pointer finger. Weird. Normalcy is this, delight in small things, the absence of anxiety, working, looking for beauty, reifying the action of God in these. We are silly and impossible creatures. What is man that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that thou visitests him? Thou is a good word. So is art. Visitests is more problematic but still pretty in a clunky sort of way. Finding delight in the ordinary and adventure in the strange, that’s a goal. Would a life coach approve? Well, yeah, probably. Existence is so weird. Wisdom is found in cliché, knowledge in the boringly ordinary, and understanding, well, I’m still working on that. So be it, though. Because it already is. That dude does not flip his wrists around when he runs. Like I do. But, you know, genetically, I’m like, half gay. I should be more neat and clean. And have a loofa. And now the shadows on the houses are crisp with the cooler, brighter daylight. Hands up, we’re approaching the turn. Whoop. Whoop, whoop, whoop.