Permission To Not Play

Sometimes I just want to be in left field, making grass angels, kiss the butterflies when they fly off to their adventures, and not give a hoot about the sunrays being bad for my skin…it’s wrinkled anyway.

That warmth feels good on my face and ears and neck, I welcome it.

John Wayne Syndrome again, Ethel had it worse. Yet again I failed to notice I was trailing Ethel as she fought her battles. Yep, I had to cover her back.

Metaphor for damn I’m tired and it’s ok to be worn out.

In place were all my neat little rescue tricks. Except I wasn’t depressed, I was, and still am, physically exhausted. In turn that’s going to steal some glad and leave sad in it’s place.

So…I’ll continue to name the dirt rabbits and draw geometric designs in the dust, and eat jelly and peanut butter crackers.Spoonful of mint jelly followed by a cracker topped with pb scraped from the jar. I must remember this time not to put my hand in the jar to scrape the bottom…

Players running around looking for bases of security, intent on barely touching one before they are seeking another…home runs?

Not in this game we call living/existing. We race for the next hit, thinking it will be our final solution to soul-sickness.Why race all the time?

Why not slow down? I’ve smelled enough flowers for 3 billion people. I want to inhale the grace that surrounds me, exhale the mustiness in my spirit.

I’m going to spit and it won’t dribble down my chin. In the grocery store. I shouldn’t be spitting there, folks are buying their food…but it might help them stick to their diets…visual of an old broad having a spitting contest with a five year old. That’s me.

No Joplin this time, downloaded the free 99 songs on Amazon.

Tibetan chants among others, interesting and new to me. What a grand surprise! I liked many of them, others? Say something nice about that kind of noise–hmmm…come back to that later.

Game time

Arcade then left field making de angels and hiding the balls.

Baseballs not brass ones–I use ’em on occasion.




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