The difference between perplexed paranoia and procrastination is sometimes a subtle distinction. The confusion which swirls, confounding me along my trudge, gets the name of procrastinator. I am not at all sure I should continue to call it by that name. I believe that quite possibly I am an internal chimera, a blend of creatures, both mythic and fantastic, striving to live as one functioning specter, in a world too hard for a disparate visage as myself. When I am most myself, when the goal is pure and true, I work with a will. When I am making deadly compromise and risking my soul for social ease or the approval of the keepers, my dragon heart rebels and I am struggling against the fire in my stomach and fear screaming in my head. I don’t know how to eliminate the conflict, but for now I will attempt to stop calling myself names.
Beware of hopelessness it has a big imagination
The interface of water and land is compelling.
Soothing but dramatic I’m drawn to this transition.
I stand and watch the lap, lap, lapping of the liquid to the land.
The gift of one place to another calls me.
Change and transition exhilarate my senses.
Whether it is rock or sand, river or sea,
I feel the pull to watch life in response.
Boundaries are beautiful.
Borders allow safety and recreation not just risk.
When I embrace this in life I embrace it in me.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault