Robert showered to the full potential of his showering capability. He put his all into donning his socks and shoes and tied them as tied as he could. Robert warmed instant oatmeal in the microwave and ate it with fully realized eating, holding back none of his will from the eating of it. 
Sliding into his fleece-lined hoodie and walking with purpose out into the fullness of the day, he was soon completely present at the bus stop, living in the moment without regret or fear. Robert put his all into riding to work, being the best pedestrian he could be from the bus stop to the donut shop door. The donuts he made that day were not excellent, having nothing special to recommend them among the other donuts of the universe. This was not, however, for lack of enthusiasm on Robert's part. Robert is fully alive, a disciple of wisdom, a follower of advice. He would make a really good ant, which is saying something.
Sometimes, in the winter, I like to imagine hot. The gritty sweat of your dirty skin runs over your sunburn. Salty drops run down your cheeks, leaving trails in the dirt from the hollows of your eyes to the corners of your dry, thirsty mouth. You are hauling brush through the dusty, dry grass of a Texas July field, placing it on a flatbed for hauling to a mulch yard. Triple-digit, afternoon heat makes you light-headed and tired, melting you where you stand. The metal of the truck tailgate is too hot to touch and it burns the skin at the back of your upper arm as you reach into the truck bed to lift the water jug. You wince back from the searing, snatching the handle of the jug as you do so. The water is warm but wet, replenishing the reservoir of your perspiration for a little longer. All around heat rises like distortion from the ground, melting the light as it passes through the air. The sun in the cloudless, pale blue sky is too bright to look full into, and you squint at turkey buzzards passing overhead. One day, you think to yourself, it will be winter again.
Robert cleans up the tub of custard he dropped with determination, trying to experience the full education of the experience. He is enthusiasm incarnate as he smears the custard around ineffectively, having chosen the wrong cleaning supplies with all the resolve of choice at his disposal. He is being all he can be, and that's all we can ask from him. He is Robert, master of the passable cruller.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
P. S. - ToadMan made the Cheshire eyes from yesterday's photo of me. I like them. Thanks, ToadMan. And thanks, friends, for stopping by.
Sliding into his fleece-lined hoodie and walking with purpose out into the fullness of the day, he was soon completely present at the bus stop, living in the moment without regret or fear. Robert put his all into riding to work, being the best pedestrian he could be from the bus stop to the donut shop door. The donuts he made that day were not excellent, having nothing special to recommend them among the other donuts of the universe. This was not, however, for lack of enthusiasm on Robert's part. Robert is fully alive, a disciple of wisdom, a follower of advice. He would make a really good ant, which is saying something.Sometimes, in the winter, I like to imagine hot. The gritty sweat of your dirty skin runs over your sunburn. Salty drops run down your cheeks, leaving trails in the dirt from the hollows of your eyes to the corners of your dry, thirsty mouth. You are hauling brush through the dusty, dry grass of a Texas July field, placing it on a flatbed for hauling to a mulch yard. Triple-digit, afternoon heat makes you light-headed and tired, melting you where you stand. The metal of the truck tailgate is too hot to touch and it burns the skin at the back of your upper arm as you reach into the truck bed to lift the water jug. You wince back from the searing, snatching the handle of the jug as you do so. The water is warm but wet, replenishing the reservoir of your perspiration for a little longer. All around heat rises like distortion from the ground, melting the light as it passes through the air. The sun in the cloudless, pale blue sky is too bright to look full into, and you squint at turkey buzzards passing overhead. One day, you think to yourself, it will be winter again.
Robert cleans up the tub of custard he dropped with determination, trying to experience the full education of the experience. He is enthusiasm incarnate as he smears the custard around ineffectively, having chosen the wrong cleaning supplies with all the resolve of choice at his disposal. He is being all he can be, and that's all we can ask from him. He is Robert, master of the passable cruller.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
P. S. - ToadMan made the Cheshire eyes from yesterday's photo of me. I like them. Thanks, ToadMan. And thanks, friends, for stopping by.
