I start the year off at too quick a pace. Tap dance afternoons, evening basketball games. Classes to prep and mint chocolate chip birthday cupcakes. And even though the forecast is a record high heatwave, I see the flurries. The paperwork, the taxes, the worries. The over-commitments, and the avalanche of weekly burdens.
Thursday nights I’ve registered for a class on dialogue, which is meant to loosen my characters’ tongues. They say I’m the lucky one just to get in, but in the weekly ladder, it’s just a higher wrung. Twice a week, I’ve joined a group to exercise at the Y. They say, it’s important to manage the waistline. I realize my desires are more plentiful than my time.
I’m not concentrated on winning 2023, I’m okay with staying in the pack, but I’m afraid I’ll have to quit a few things just to not fall towards the back.
January flurries. They hit the stomach first. The reintroduction of routine. The desire to be something of worth. The realization that what I’ve manifested is more indigestion. Butterflies? Eternal optimism? The training I’ve internalized that if I can just close my eyes, see my goals, the whole twelve months will be over in time. Relief.
Blinding blizzard of worries
The new year’s scary
d’Verse Poet’s Pub | Haibun Monday | hosted by kim881. Chime in on your new year plans.