ru·mi·na·tion

/ˌro͞oməˈnāSH(ə)n/

Hope springs eternal, oddly in December

when nature fights itself we all win. c. Nov ’19, Hobbit House

 

It dawns on me – regularly – that I have lost all track of time. The passage of time. Where in my life I’m at right now. Of the things I recall where they fit in the lifeline – takes more effort than it used to and more than I care to spend on esoteric truths such as ‘oh, yeah, I had a violently racist roommate for a long weekend once, in Phoenix, in …. carry the 7, check the lunar rising astrology house sign, which way is the wind blowing – aha! 1932! Phoneix. the early days, I tell ya!’

I mean, really, does anyone on this planet besides ‘smug, knows-it-all-Scott-who’s-inside-my-brain-all-the-time’? No, no one does. So I’m learning to let it go. Just let it go. (I hear it’s a good piece of advice)

//10:50am+1Dec2019=Sunday morn | the quiet house sounds of Rumbly in the play room and Hali all sorts of something in the living room//

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