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This week has been a struggle, and apparently I can’t even spell correctly right now (this sentence is difficult to physically type with each word stamping itself out with the wrong letters again and again)  which shows my fight against this keyboard as I try and type out my thoughts, a day late, again. Again and again and I’m not even halfway through this project of 365 days.

I’ve been caught up in family things and battling inner emotions that don’t seem to want to be written. Life and death don’t step aside for my or anyone’s personal aspirations for the day, the week, the month, the year.

It’s raining outside now and the drops mar my perfectly manicured dirt of a yard that someday soon will hopefully sprout into a lawn that I’ve missed since the days of my childhood when I’d lie on a green carpet and stare up at the clouds or the stars. Inside, Luna is sleeping next to me after playing with another puppy at the dog park. She needed the activity so badly today after being my personal companion as we trouped from one visit to the next throughout the city in the past days.

My head is rattled with to-do lists that keep building up even as I check off a minuscule task one day, then the next and I wonder why we schedule anything when our bodies don’t even know what time is. They only know how to live second by second, pumping blood through our veins and our brains – until they don’t anymore.

Right now I’d rather be checking things off the list – even while I’m checking one off by writing this. If I could schedule it all perfectly, this blog would be first and only on the list. I’d write it out by hand – a direct connection to my heart – and I’d carve each entry out of this WordPress stone as carefully and as beautiful as Michelangelo did – when he had nothing else to do. When life allowed people to follow their passions, instead of their duties.

But alas, to use a word that no one uses anymore, we have things to do, and events in life poke and prod us into other things that we feel are “important” and put all of what we love on the back burner to simmer slowly until they either burn to dust, or, if we do it right, carmelize into something better. We just have to know how the recipe goes. We have to understand the timing of it all.

This weekend, I burned it all. Stove up in flames.

This week, I’ll try harder to make something sweeter.

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