Sunday, August 3, 2014

August 3- Day 3 #writeyourselfalive - Where did Yesterday Go?


Yesterday came and gone and I sit and think of all the Things I could've, should've, would've done if....

I attempted this #writeyourselfalive back in February and I go back to my first writing of that time




February 25, 2014
Write your life away they say. Type your life away I do, yet not for my pleasure – for the pay. I sit behind this computer hours on days, days to weeks, years years and more years. My shoulders are quasied and my back is aching. Wrists splints, pinched nerves. I crumple with every clack. My keys are worn along with my body. No letters to remain on the board just memories of my fingerprints feeling the ghost of alphabets.

 Where is the letter N my daughter asks? Well I can feel it for you, but you won’t see it because my clack has worn the N right off the board.  How do you do that type without eyes? It is all programming of the mind. Oh the mind programming we go through to survive this path they call life, yet my mind is on an adventure, yet my body is trapped behind the screen. Almost a semi paralysis, but not really since I have the option of standing up.  So really no comparison there.
 
I am no longer "shoulding" myself. Like YESTERDAY... how many times did I say you have 5 more hours until this day is over... you SHOULD write something! 11:23pm: It is almost Midnight... a new day is upon you... you SHOULD write something! 12:13am - next day... Day Three... where did yesterday go I ask?
It went on a Journey with two little girls in tow to find the perfect pair of shoes in a wonderland of thrift. It went to watching my littles clippity clop around in sparkled heels and purses of plenty that held stories within their folds of previous owners. It went to the giggles of littles hiding in the largest Narnia Wardrobe ever. Yesterday was a room filled with wonders of others, left behind or gifted away so that others could play amongst the broken, used, and tossed.
I will not Should myself because even though the pen did not hit paper or the fingers did not clack, the story still wrote itself upon grey matter.
 
 

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