Walking bundles of habit, I think I read somewhere. That's what we are. I get up, hit my knees, give thanks, meditate, and stretch... all figuratively speaking, of course. Many of my habits are aspirational. Some of them, at least. The others have an anaconda lock on me, constricting me slowly before I'm too light headed to realize I'm in da belly of da beast. LOL. It's a hypnotic tango with my dance partners, with fear and self-doubt mirroring my movement each time I get a craving or feel alone or start running on capital e Empty. I mean, I'm good, but if that one thing happened I'd be doing way better. Oh, man, if that one woman said that one thing or she came over and we hung out and connected like I imagine we would, I'd be great. Then I'd be alright. Alright? Hell, I'd be better than alright! Then I'd be free, y'know? That would make it all worthwhile, all the other stuff that I do that I'm not sure makes me Me. Like, I know I'm not me when I'm slaving the wage, which is what I've had to do to get by, right? I'm just trying to make sure I've got some security, but next year I'm really going to focus on being me again. Then I'll return to the things that "feed" me, but I can't do that right now because that's just not where things are at. It's like that saying I just made up: I've got to get a few more ducks in a row, then the ducks will be in a row. As for who I am though? Well, at least I know who I have the potential to become. To become. To become.