There is no stasis. It is a fantasy, a fiction. There is always the next moment. This fence has been repaired and painted. The garden has grown. I have repented a million times and promise to be more productive, to live better and be prettier. This week will be much different from last. I will have to live with contradictions of movement and meditation. What comes of that is predictable, or used to be. But there is no steady state.
I've decided that last night's meal is the last for awhile. I have to stop eating and drinking. The fucking paparazzi were out this last week. I do not like what I see. Changes must be made.
Everyone had a steak. Asparagus, grilled potatoes, and sautéed garlic and mushrooms at the ready. A bottle of red. All good stuff, but it must be the last one until Mother's Day when I will once again play chef. Until then, coffee, tea, and water. I am hideous.
I walked further than I have since Thanksgiving yesterday, a mile and a half. Maybe my knee feels better. It has to. It must.
After dinner, the neighbor's cat found the catnip. He stayed there for an hour. He was stoned out of his mind. I will need to buy new catnip now.
I am blank this morning. I have nothing to say. I am living in the reaction.