Well...Heh, stopped myself there...before I could type
at least.
At least feels like I'd be making an excuse. I don't wanna make excuses, not no more. Excuses stop me. Not today, excuses didn't...yes, at least. I wrote for Aryst0krat's
The Night Sky on Protag, finally. I'd wanted to, longer than I can remember now.
Since Thursday, I'd been fiddling with whatever it was gonna be, my moment's scribbled note about that pre-dawn look out the bedroom window, and marveling at moon, Jupiter, and Orion, all together close in the deep blue sky.
My fiddling ruined any lively spontaneity which might have come. My look out the window could've been a pre-breakfast texting to the blog. Or quick posting later Thursday, to the blog from work. Even something rushed out Friday night, my workweek done. No. Instead, Saturday morn...I'm stopping myself re-hashing here all that's in
Missed the Cosmic Bus, my add to The Night Sky...instead, I chucked out the wordy over-blown mess.
Instead, I wrote down the truth of my ruinous fiddling these past three mornings. Worked it up Saturday morn. Didn't overdo it. Didn't contemplate it 'til the distant someday the leftover universe crunches in.
I actually posted it after the first clean read-through. And didn't take myself too seriously, either. That's hopeful, I'd say. A stab at reclaiming my ability to go with the moment.
