Wednesday, October 31, 2012



disembodied from spirit, passion, love

con(n)stricted to the convex of soul outside of life

I stole this post from my old blog. 
And I am not sure what else to say about it. 
Except to say that my play on words has lately been my playbook on life. 
I haven't been blogging.
I haven't been journaling as much as I need to journal to keep my soul connected to my body. 
I have squirreled myself away in hiding a bit. 
I decided to take an October break from my project of disciplines.
This morning I have no idea where my book of liturgical prayers is tucked away.
My therapy this month has been good books: I re-read The Great Gatsby and for the first time treated myself to Brave New World, Fahrenheit 451, and Catch-22. 
I just feel a bit disjointed, is all, as perhaps you can tell by my disjointed, flowless (is that even a word?) collection of words. 
Tomorrow is November 1.  A new month.  A new discipline?
I am not sure.  I am not sure what it would be. 
Perhaps I should swallow my snarky disdain for clichés and make my project a month of gratitude.  Perhaps gratitude could be my reset button.  I shake my head even as I type. 
It's not that I am not grateful.
But sometimes I just want to wallow a bit. 
And I don't want to be grateful in November when everyone else is spouting gratefulness.  (Go ahead and roll your eyes at me.  I am rolling my eyes at me, too.)  But I want to be grateful in March or something, when I am convinced that spring is never, ever going to appear.
But gratefulness would be good for me. 


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