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I Don’t Get to Sleep in Tomorrow

I don’t get to sleep in tomorrow but I don’t go to bed.

The police helicopter the dogs bark
my thoughts.

My screen, the words of others glowing in sync with me, awake.

There’s cookies with my name on them
and a pillow…but the cookies

A quiet house is so great for sleeping, isn’t it?

I mean, if I were to sleep, wouldn’t a quiet house (and that pillow), be perfect?

The cookies, not so much.

The glowing words of others, not so much.

For sleep that is.

Those words have synced up and now I’m thinking less about sleeping in.

Sleep is important, sleep is inevitable,
some might even call it lovely.

People who call sleep delicious unnerve me.

Cookies though

And those glowing words

My screen, still on because
those words.

The helicopter gone, the dogs quiet
my thoughts

I don’t get to sleep in tomorrow and the house is quiet.

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To You Who Will Never Read This

I don’t want to be too presumptuous, but I think the biggest problem with our relationship is lack of communication. If you’re reading this now, well, you probably agree with a lot of the beliefs and ideals that I value. We probably read news from similar organizations and follow the same types of people on Twitter. Our friends probably look alike and we probably even listen to similar music. We talk all the time and practically always agree.

But if you’re someone who’s not reading this, honestly, I think our relationship is in trouble. We don’t often see or hear each other and when we do, we’re both so focused on what the other is saying or doing that’s wrong that we barely hear anything else. There may have been a time when we might listen to what the other has to say politely, but those days are long gone. We’ve both said some hurtful stuff and done some stupid things and frankly, I find you kind of offensive. I think you’re full of fear and ignorance and…well, there I go again. It’s so easy to focus on what I don’t agree with when you talk—I know you know what I mean.

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Why I Write: to Connect

whyiwrite2016It’s pretty simple why I write: I write to connect. To connect my brain to my heart. Or sometimes just to connect my brain to my brain—writing straightens out my thoughts. Through my words typed out and shared with others, I connect by adding my voice to the stream of human experience. It’s not always important that it’s unique or new but often it’s important for me to be a part of something that only my writing can connect me to.

Writing is a way for me to reach out to others for guidance and a way to respond to those that reach out to me. I’m not sure I could be a part of life in the same way without writing. The connections I gain through writing make me a better person and that is reason enough to keep at it.

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Markers

It’s seems important to have markers—points along the continuum to clearly state something has ended and something has begun. And even though most people seem drawn towards delineations on some level, there’s something about having kids that really pushes the demand for recording the beginnings and the ends.

It starts with birth and quickly becomes first foods, words, and steps. Just as you record one marker another has already passed, and pretty soon you just can’t keep up. But today was a clear marker that’s pretty easy to name but hard to consolidate into a concise description that captures everything that was experienced.

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Beautiful Weeds

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Beautiful Weeds

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A Way Out of No Way

a_way_out_of_no_wayThe last couple days have been more of the same of what we’ve grown accustomed to in America. Gridlock in the government. Two opposing sides, digging their heels into their ideals, stubbornly resisting any inkling of progress. I was almost brought to tears when I saw Rep. John Lewis’s speech before the sit-in—tears of pain and frustration at our inability as a people to make our country safer by implementing at least some restrictions on guns in America.

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Now

It’s easy to want to look back and recount the year. How much quality time did I spend with my family or how many projects at work were completed or how many miles did I run? Who did I see and what did we do? And it’s almost as easy to imagine what the next year will hold for me. But why? What amount of remembering or fortune telling changes how I am doing right now?
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I Went to the Airport for a Run

Actually, I went to the airport to fly to Minneapolis, but some sort of faulty hydraulics in Fresno made me late to SFO. My connecting flight was in International(!), all the way across the airport from where I landed, so I ran. In fact, my technology tells me I ran 0.71mi in roughly 5m. With a bag in human traffic, that’s not bad. I arrived at the gate breathing heavy and sweating. Plane—still there. Terminal umbilical thingy—still there. Door—locked. I was 100ft away but it might as well have been 30,000ft. I was sad. So I took a picture of the plane that left me.

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