Dear J—

Was it this last week or the week before that my bike decided that it needed several blood sacrifices? It has been a long while since I had the chance to write, as the Mondays appear to be the last holdout now. The tracery of scars on my shins tell me it was probably two weeks ago that I flew over the handlebars and landed with what the car behind me said was a gnarly crash, but who knows now?

There’s a lot of everything that makes it not so simple to spend time by myself, between people talking and family asking; I’m pulled in several different directions at once and my word, does it hurt to be stretched out. If you don’t get to practice your chosen craft, then how do you respond? By sulking, because that’s the way to ruin, isn’t it? If you know you shouldn’t and yet you do, well, how do you work to intercept that before it becomes an issue?

The grace to accept things that can’t be changed is the primary vessel, isn’t it? I’ll have to be thinking over that one a bit.



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