Minimalism can’t quit trying to smile itself into my world before getting kicked toothless by my determination to never get rid of anything, which brains (and slightly nutty delusions) agree I’ll surely find use for, soon…
thinning my closet
to keep only what I need—
who am I kidding?
Once, a nun who moonlighted (daylighted?) as a language teacher—and who loathed my Muse’s habit of scribbling on the margins of notebooks and on the hems of skirts—told me that “A neatly kept notebook is a sign of human angelism.” I didn’t say, Sister, I am wicked good without wings you can not see. Also, I delight in my genitalia. But I was thinking it…
in wild ink, my soul shall be
My flesh and I work hard at the art of keeping a healthy house. I shun junk that hurts my gut and heart and thoughts, that provides instant gratification while threatening the sharpness of my grin. Still, I dare stir a teaspoon of danger (or even 3) into the yummy darkness of my morning brew…
must toss the sugar!!!!!
brains speak rather cleverly
while hearts laugh madly
I believe in the wisdom of brains. Every year, I let thoughts scrutinize sweet pleasure. Then, a not-so-wee voice inside my skull (the one that understands balance and chaos must kiss deep and long... to be happy) summons the might and wit of my Pratchett: Hm… “Five exclamation marks, the sure sign of an insane mind.” And I reach for sugar.
the wee notes…
- written for I Don’t Do New Year’s Resolutions, But… (week 4 of Doing It Alone Is Quite Yummy, But…). Yes, I noticed every “But…”. If you wish to participate, just follow the link to my other cyber-home.
- linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.
some of the to-be-scribbled-on-blissfully bounty I received this Yule
(can’t wait to show you their insides)