Honesty Pants

Apologies for the
undeclared leave of literary absence. To make
time for writing would mean time to catch my breath;
to catch my words. but they are difficult to
track down. fast little goobers. like chasing an olympic sprinter. but
here.
I
am.
On the almost underside of the summer.
the turn table of sneaky autumn and I have so much to process in my mind
and only a small window of time - I feel outside of it all.
kind of like watching my clothes turn over and over and over again
in the dryer.
I am hoping to iron out all the wrinkles.
with words.
Amazing what happens to your thoughts,
when they are like clothes you wear.

Everyone seems to know what you are thinking.

But these thoughts are forcefully wadded up in a
ball because you find folding is, well, effort you do not have energy
to exert tonight. or tomorrow. but someday
I will share share
what God is teaching me. always. for a girl who thinks she wants to be
a creative writing professor, this pupil business is kind of ironic.
Jesus was called teacher.
I could take a million moments like these. Sitting on someone else's
khaki love seat,
occasionaly glancing through the white french doors. just because they are beautifully old. and illuminated by the kind of golden light only night allows.
tea in hand. typing in the other.
speakers taking me back to India.
it is like this seat was made for my six foot frame.
Honesty pants. I pranced around this place like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.
I know
I have not posted anything in ages.
Speaking of ages -
I am convinced I was born in the wrong one.
But I think this age is making a glorious, just-got-your-driver-license kind of u-turn back to the one I was made for. The 1940's.
Bright, bold, red lipstick. Fierce black eye lines. Victoria Lake hair.
Keeping it classy. Always.

this is the most random post
you will ever read. and it really does not have a point.
it is more like a rounded edge.
but thank you for
reading
anyway.