Not a poem

(Wow, this thing is getting updated.)

The number of possibilities (we're talking about the future here) is sheerly frightening. When possibility becomes choice, then it becomes exciting. We have not reached exciting yet.

I hear the movement of a clock.

I don't want to go back to school. Scratch that. I don't want to move back on campus. I mean, if I do my math right, adding up all the parts, then I should at least come out with a positive number, something above zero, but it's just not happening.

Maybe it's just transition woes (see! there's the optimist in me speaking!). Maybe I need to actually start packing. Maybe I actually need to do things, like, I don't know, buying school supplies. But I think that requires motivation.

In other news...

I finished four measures of my dulcimer arrangement of "All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands." Like you care.

Maybe next time I'll have a poem or a story up or something. Maybe not.