There is a box of crayons dumped across my redwood table. Fifty choices of color. I choose magenta because I can make the word magnet out of its name. I need a magnet this morning to keep me in my desk chair and keep me honest. Honest looks like the two quarters it takes to wash my clothes, and then the two quarters it takes to dry my clothes. Honest is me loving my kittens by scratching their bellies, and me thanking Grams for bringing me a dead cockroach. Yes, I have a cockroach in my house that is now deceased. Disgusting.
I didn’t wake up and do cardio this morning at the gym. I wanted to wake up and write…two hours ago. I hit the snooze way too many times. Morning is always thick. Like wading through mud, forgetting the fact that the mud can be rejuvenating. I have never had a mud bath. I think of it as being too messy rather than life giving. Love can be messy, but I do invite it into my life.
Love is not messy today. It is a jingle in my head that repeats over and over again. It is the magenta crayon. I can color in a circle, deep color. A square is more formal, as is a rectangle. A triangle, though nicely pointed, does not suit me today. It is the circle in all its endlessness that catches my eye. Today, I remember that love is not a minimum of two glasses of water but rather a faucet turned on indefinitely. I have no water bill. There is no cost. I will not iron my pants today, but will revel in the design of wrinkles. A friend tells me I use too many metaphors. I can’t help myself today. Just like a glass of chocolate milk is sweeter than a regular glass of milk, I seek that perfect moment in writing where all is love.