Lots of Memory No Movement

March 6 Saturday 2010

I can’t seem to get myself to move. I am now very aware with this log, that I have been learning poems but not moving. I feel in fact as if I am bigger and more out of shape than when I picked up the gauntlet to make a change.

I hate walking, with the poems, or without. I can’t find a way in. I love my bike. I adore the thought of heading out on two wheels, it excites and invigorates me, while the very plodding of one foot in front of the other causes a nearly apoplectic reaction in me. And why? Perhaps because I often eschew what is good for me. We all do, right? I am not alone here.

I long for butter and potatoes and crunchy bread or pastries and black coffee. I long to stay abed with feather quilts and long books or movies with costumes and sad longing music. The doorbell interrupts me after only a few here and house quests beckon. Not that it matters, everything seems to divert me and make me to return to the sallow, sense that I am lost. At least for now. I see how bitter and prone to anger I am. I cannot or have not gotten out of my own way. Even though the sun is beginning to shine and the earth is turning toward the warmth. Not me, not me.


One response to “Lots of Memory No Movement

  1. Peter Storandt

    Spring is scary and uncertain. We might be forced back to what we’ve just been through.

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