Less Racy Thoughts

As I watch the sun rise into a soon-to-be blue sky outside the studio window, my eyes are still drawn to the pricks of security lights/reflections far more than the gentle reds and yellows of red and the growing blue. Dear G.O.D., I hate that father fucking light trigger. . . Why can't I be metaphorically blissful in The Light? I'm definitely not okay. I will be fine for casual passersby, but my friends will spot the psychosis quicker than I can open my stuttery mouth. My supporters are plying therapy tools as best they can. Thank you, my life savers.

The thoughts are still fizzuring on the gentlest of suggestion, but I managed to get the dishes done and didn't feel quite so trapped at the demolition pile outside the window. Visualizing morning rake chi at the new edges K and I created at the edges of the pile comforted me some and weren't too disrupted by the yaddahs of the blah.

The seccurity lights have begun turning themselves off. Their inky black shadows are long gone. The blue sky of the coming day is mostly here.

Did somebody suggest Rake Chi? It ain't no rooftop garden, but Chi is everywhere.

Sleep restless, but adequate. Appetite fair. Persilly is sniffing with tail wagging enthusiasm over the new edges K and I put on the pile. She even forgave me for forgetting to feed her last night. I'm a bit prideful that I even remembered that I forgot. Awareness good.