Post Shower.

I just took a shower. I just took the longest shower of my life. That was the best goddamn shower I've ever taken. Hot water ran down the top of my head like an egg cracks, easy and slow. I swear in sank through my skull and ran straight down through my neck and spine and made It's way to my knee caps where it flooded them and nearly knocked me over from the force, but stood me up tall with a jerk instead. When it reached my feet in soaked through the arches and down the drain where it had always intended to be and I knew it.

Sometimes I cant help but need to close my eyes and breathe deeply. I fear that If I don't, I will be too overwhelmed by all the life around me and just bottle up and explode! There is nothing I want more than life, there is nothing I do better.

The conflict is the meaty part of life. The struggle is the skeleton. Laughter is merely the skin and I'm drowning in it.

I'm so fucking busy, I'm so fucking happy. I love getting my hands dirty, tiring and toiling and complaining and fighting to be alert at times. It's redeeming.

Though I know I will inevitably return to the thoughts that parade around as fear late at night, but also call themselves "research", I don't care, I'm happy in this moment.


I wonder, is all we are to smoke drink fight and fuck? Are we just a mass of merry go rounds spinning at a velocity our brains aren't capable of catching? Should I be satisfied or get satisfied?

I take comfort in that no one else really has a clue either, even if they say they do, even if they write books or coach lives or hold offices, they're lying. We're all lying. you're all a bunch of fuckin liars, everyone one of ya. ps. I love you all, and I cant help it.

It just started raining. I think it will take me a while to get used to the idea of rain not being foreboding or anxious. It never rains in Texas. When it does it makes me think that god is trying to sell me something. Somehow though, In my house, right now, where its freezing and two thirds sleeping, the rain is non threatening. Instead it lulls me, clams me, talks to me even. I'm sitting here cold and achy in my bed, snuggling beneath the cotton that's swallowing me up and I'm thinking about how fragile I am. I'm a slave to my body in fact. To its pain and its hunger and its temperature and its desires, I am at it's mercy. I can't get a damn thing done without being interrupted by something my body needs everyday. You'd think I'd be mad at it, but instead I just coddle it. I feed it and rest it and clothe it and so on. Why, I'm just a big baby.

That's what I am, a baby. And so are you. A baby, scrambling around to find something to justify calling ourselves significant. Unique.

Stop. You already are. I believe you without all the bad press.

Whatever your reasons, I like talking to people who are comfortable enough with themselves to talk about things that they actually care about.

j