Tonight I am resolved against making any vows. My sister points out that had our father not chosen to take so many vows, it wouldn�t have mattered�but he did take those vows, and was believed, and then he broke them. She says, �I haven't taken any vows!� And to my great relief I realize that neither have I.
No vows, then, only goals�for instance:
Still aim to please, but stop avoiding it at any cost.
Get new unscratched glasses and keep them that way.
Prepare and post for public view something I�ve kept tucked�no I�m sorry I want it to be a surprise.
Today I kept to yesterday�s resolution, which was to keep my nose to the grindstone today turning out editorial copy. Now for the sheer hell of it I will beat myself with the giddyup stick once more, and go do the math.
So anyway (thank you whoever you were for the built-in on-screen calculator, all of you, blessings) today I submitted 1,773 words, pared down to the absolute bone from, I don�t know, 3,000 originally? 6,000? 425,000? Who cares? They�re gone.
But I am tired, and so tonight I will fall back on sharing a few more small, old, nasty Valentines.
Oh the tiresome task of sorting through the population at hand for another set of genitals to finger�
can I be bothered to reduce someone new to confusion�
someone who might drink too much and say things she doesn�t mean?
Or to retrace my steps into the ring of old flames and attempt a big rematch against what had been better judgment�on both sides�
how sweet could it be really, waiting out another�s prime.
The sad semi-defeated straining inward of people long without sexual companionship, a diaspora into self.
What is the inner glow but desperate boredom casting searchlight rays.
Charred pilings�no more bridge.
The residuum of bad love, stubborn, caked, like boot prints on the lunar surface, part memory, part proof.
I go out and wave my broom at the full moon try to get a little breeze going up there�
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