I noticed some thought patterns this morning, thoughts that were similar across circumstances. Those who know me will probably not be surprised.
Me waking up, fretting about how the washer and dryer will be connected in the small space that will be our new laundry room: I will never have a working washer and dryer again.
Me, after my spouse designer explains it to me: This new home design is brilliant. How long until the countertops are ready?
Me before writing my seminary research paper: It's useless; I thought I had good ideas but now I don't remember what they were.
Me after writing the first paragraph and figuring out my overarching point, my long awaited thesis statement: Maybe I should try to get this published.
Me, watching others achieve poetry publication success: I thought I might have a first book. But I haven't yet. Clearly my poetry has no worth.
Me, reading this poem that was published in 2009, which I rediscovered yesterday from reading this post as I wrote about watching Missing again: This poem is brilliant! I should compile a new manuscript to submit as my first book and start sending it out again.
Insert a moment of gratitude for literary journals that still exist online, and a moment of sadness for that moment in 2009, when I thought we were creating a brave, new literary community.
Me, parking the car in a place at camp where it won't be in the way: I'm tired of always moving cars, all summer long, and why is it so damp all the time?
Me, seeing one of the berries in the bramble bushes in the vacant lot along the side of the road, as I walk back from parking the car: It's a sign from the universe that I belong here.
May all our bramble bushes give us berries and joy!