My brain is scrambled eggs after meditating and flopping forth and back to decipher just how it is I can start my entry today. Today was a perfect day (if I have to give today a name). It started how I dreamed future days would start. In bed with the person I love. The sun hadn't fully opened his eyes yet. He snoozed longer but we didn't. In my kitchen, without pants on, (how I spend most of my days recently) I realized that today was the first of the month. August went to bed with us and hardly said goodnight. I'll have to wait around an entire year until she comes back around and shines her end of summer glimmer on whatever I'm going through. I'm always going through something. Not in a negative way, well... not always in a positive way either. In the way that everyone is going through something. Sonder. I noticed that August seems to be one of the most discussed months for poets. Something is birthed into the month of August that beckons us to write about it. I felt a little love sick in my poorly-lit kitchen this morning at the thought of the month closing. If there is one thing I will shrivel without, it is a proper goodbye. August gave me a lot. And I used to feel violently ill towards it. It meant summer was ending. It wasn't June or July. Both of my fathers were born in August. They make me feel like an orphan sometimes. I haven't heard from one of them in over a month, the other, maybe a year. Things have changed for me. Luck put its silken voice to my ear and said, "I've got something good waiting for you." How many times did luck sneak that message to me? How many instances did I deflect it? August told me my job would end, but then I got to spend more time in my underwear. How can I be mad in my underwear? I met someone special and spent August with him. I want to tell the whole world about him. This August would stick out in a room full of every other August I've met.
September started like this:
A kiss in the morning. An omelet. A nap on the couch in which I dreamt of a very nice haircut and that my love had left work early to come and kiss me on my porch. A few calls to my sister. A sip of a sweet drink. A smoke. A trip to the market to buy figs, sticky rice, and a block of goat cheese (not to be eaten in unison). A drive to the river to read and bake in the sun. A dip in the water to see if the mermaids had anything to say. They didn't today. A cold shower back home. A lunch in the nook. A scroll through one of my favorite blogs. A burrito. A candle burning on the shelf. A prayer to Krishna. A warm blanket. Yoga. A moment alone to write this. Well wishes for the remaining twenty-nine days.
Amen. I am bowing to you, whoever you are. I think about you all of the time.
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