it’s far too late to be awake still
but my bum foot and bum-foot-hopefully-healing-medicines
have a wakefulness side effect. combo that with the late afternoon nap i had,
and it makes for one open eyed bird at this late hour of the night.

what do i do with myself?

i’m double fisting books right now but neither one is really holding my attention. i pulled out of face-book land a long while ago, so i can’t go creeping around there. my only bulletin board hangs on my wall, and the online ones of others leave me swimming in some cocktail sea of inspiration/overkill/envy/self-doubt/pleasure…always swamping me in the end with plain old overwhelmed.
i tried the middle-of-the-night shower (sorry downstairs neighbour).
i researched poisonous plants.
i wandered through blog land.
i youtubed bill withers.
i read some poems.

earlier in the night i took my dog for a drive.
i know…dogs much prefer walks. but this whole bum foot business makes walking to the kitchen a chore, let alone walking around a few city blocks with a big-hairy-squirrel-chasing-beast-on-a-leash…so i opted for a drive to the country instead. i once read that taking your dog out in the early evening is like the equivalent of a sensory orgasm for your pet. the air at that hour (so i read) is so thick with the scents of the day, that they just go wild in the best possible way. so i loaded the old guy in the car, opened the sun roof, rolled down the windows, and took us both out for a good time. it was great. he hung his head out the window and stuck his nose in the air…we listened to jazz on the radio…we watched the sun start to set over farm fields…

hello friday night.

i’m not sure if there’s a point to this post. i just felt like writing, and, well, quite frankly around here, that’s all the reason i need to have. i used to be driven to write words all the time. when i was younger i couldn’t feed paper through my typewriter fast enough. i filled spiral bound notebooks like they were going out of style. but now i have to work the muscle a lot harder to get the words to come out.
i need to exercise intention. i need to follow the impulse. i need to make myself sit down and write.

so it’s 2am and i’m writing improper sentences without using capitals, and i’m telling you about body malaise and you tube videos and evening drives with my dog.

and when i started this post there was a moth fluttering around my lamp, doing what moths do, trying to get close to the light. i just noticed that the fluttering has stopped. even the moth has gone to sleep.

i will turn off the lamp now.
i think i’ve done enough.
the body will heal.
words that need saying will come.
we’ll all keep moving toward the light.