I’m writing.
I’m writing and I’m exhausted.
I’m writing and I’m exhausted and I’m overwhelmed.
My body is trembling from the combination of over-caffeination and questioning everything.
My left forearm is throbbing. The physiological manifestation of fatigue. My body knows.
The more I prioritize happiness, the easier it is to feel the tension of misdirected energy.
What is the intention for this moment? How am I feeling alive in my doing, and not my thinking?
Taking a beat… Recalculating…
Sensuality. I desire sensuality here and now.
Noticing my surroundings for the first time today while externalizing these words.
Feeling the sunlight on my back. Savoring small sips of chai latte. Embracing the white noise of central air.
Breathing. Breath. Inhale. Exhale. Expand. Contract. The ocean of my body steadying. My jaw unclenching.
I am not a victim of my own circumstances and choices. I'm seizing this moment as an opportunity to switch the narrative. What a gift to have the space to be curious and contradictory. To be in the storm, and then still on the waters. What a gorgeous, messy gift.
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