I’m going to go buy flowers. I’m going to put them somewhere logical, like the center of our table. I have my hat on now, ready to put on my shoes and drive to the grocery store. I’m hoping that they'll have something white, or white and lavender.

I quit my job at the bookstore thinking I would find purposeful ways of making money. I have found them, but they are slow and irregular and don’t make enough in the end. I’ve gotten to know idleness again. I sit on the couch watching National Geographic Channel actually asking myself, What do people do with all this time?. Meanwhile, about 4 heavy assignments loom above me, the rent is barely being met, and nothing is packed for the move in 2 weeks. Laziness creates absurd contradictions.

I like writing poetry. For a while they were coming quick. They’ve slowed down, mostly with my reading more work by established poets. Mostly with my losing faith in my ability. Rationally, I know that I can improve with practice and work; but I’ve always defeated myself with the requisite of talent before practice. If I’m not doing the best there is of whatever I’m doing, then I figure I’ll stop doing it until I can. The ability will be the culmination of lived experience and much reading, which I won’t gain by sitting on my ass wondering, What do people do with all this time?

I’m receding. I’m not sure if it should bother anyone, or if I should even be concerned. I think it’s what my psyche is telling me I need. Extroversion seems uncomfortable and useless right now. I’m almost involuntarily keeping everything thin and irrelevant. I think it’s time for another England, and like last time, everything I do will lead up to that departure.