The limits of January

19 Jan

Good thing for sick days, or I’d get nothing done. This is the second time I’ve been knocked down in a month and I’m about done with this sniffly, drooping mope-orama. At least it’s a good time to write, as long as the delirium keeps telling me I’m a pretty fair writer.
It’s dark still but it sounds like the weather feels like I do; soggy, complaining, confined and pushing at the door. I had PLANS, damn it.
I decided to clean my closet! Actually it was my whole house but I started with my bedroom.  The half empty drawer I took out of the dresser is still on the bedroom floor, a few stacks of de-selected clothing too, two days ago. The Christmas tree is still looking festive- if a bit dehydrated. I should take him down. A few ornaments slip to the floor in the night, I assume an earthquake. I make sure I praise it’s Noble beauty everyday. You neverIs that vitamin D I spy over yonder? know- some day I may be it and it may be me, for all we know of time and space and consciousness and reality. If I had to be a Christmas tree, if that were my fate, I would at least like to be acknowledged for it.

I try to focus on spring duties, projects and plans. I have a few notebooks of inspirational lists and reminders. In fact there must be one on every flat surface in this house. How’d that happen? They’re being buried by balls of crumpled tissue paper.

I’ve concluded January is the perfect month to accept my limits.  My body’s limits, my limited time and my limited attention span.   I feel better already.

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