As expected, my routines took a hit. I used to lift weights; I used to have a pretty standard set of actions. But adult life makes it harder, made it harder, continues to make it difficult, the action of keeping a pattern. I’m not so much a creature of habit, and I’m certainly not one to keep to schedules, but I did have a routine to some degree. A pattern of timing that worked. And made me feel like I knew what my day might be like, or at least not feel a constant state of disrupted confusion. Continue reading
Lights are all over there.
Am I drunk,
Or deranged? Continue reading
As it came upon him.
Filled with more,
Than he could stomach. Continue reading
In fiction, the conflict is not always external.
I know a monster, and its name is stress. I know it like a friend, like a lover. Continue reading