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Thursday.

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There is a band called Fun.
Their words blare through my radio:
“WHAT DO I STAND FOR? WHAT DO I STAND FOR?”

Sometimes this question is exciting to me.
Sometimes this question is exhausting to me.

I stand for: Stop whining and just go love people. Everything will be okay.
I stand for: Eat butter.
I stand for: Make a choice. Be accountable.
I stand for being sincere.

Those are my first raw responses.
Notice that most of those are commands. I boss myself around a lot.
Notice that most of those have a hint of hurry. Go! Do! Be! Now!
In other words, they are both exciting and exhausting.

I would say the only one that doesn’t sound hurried or commanding is the last.
I stand for being sincere.
Sometimes I feel that’s the best I’ve got going for me.
I may not know what the answers are, but I sure won’t be fake about it.
I may not do the right thing, but you can safely assume I’m trying.

Lately I feel like there is so much clutter. Clutter in my schedule. Clutter in my living room. Clutter in my mind. Clutter in my kitchen sink. Cluttered-up closet. Cluttered-up heart. Cluttered-up conversations. I have this immense need to CLEAR OUT THE JUNK. I want to come home and feel fulfilled, regardless of whether or not my day was filled. I want to pursue things that matter to me.

Here some things that help me:
Talking with people helps me love.
Riding my bike helps me let go and see.
Yoga helps me balance and listen.
Writing helps me face myself.

Here are some songs that feel good:
The Stable Song; Gregory Alan Isokov
The House of God, Forever; Jon Foreman
Farmer Chords; Ben Gibbard

Here is some Thursday night free-verse:

All these things leak out of me. A slow drip backwards step by step.
No bucket to catch them and I don’t hear the splash.
They crowd together and come chasing me back.
Avalanche.
And I run for the hills.

On the back of a train to the horizontal clouds,
Like a woman ashamed of her own hands, I hold on.
If my body were a text it would say hold on hold on.
In my muscle’s memory there are tight tight grips.
They won’t forget.

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