The door slams shut.
I pace over my torn carpet, taking slow, deep breaths.
I know today is a stress volcano,
But I’m charging myself through its brunt, welding anthem in my pocket, hands first.
“I can do this. I can surmount this. I am strong.”
I’m becoming my own leader, rather than my torturer. But don’t get me wrong, I I have to make it a conscious decision to cup my fist.
I will not hang weights on myself through this day.
Im gonna make the bed. I’m gonna fold the clothes, grab my phone, read those pages..
No. After the clothes I put in the money to get my next little book. It’s been too long.
Denial creeps itself up into my list. I feel the need to take a second and worry. But that’s why I went here.
Im gonna take my worry and put it in the lines. I’m gonna wrap it up with a pretty verbal bow and send it off to market, where it’s fangs and claws can’t touch me.
And then, I’m gonna change my shoes and leave for the rest of this.
I’m gonna remember to get some vitamins next winter,
Because the sun came out today and it felt like the first time on months where I could breathe, and open my eyes.
Pompeii could unravel again before my open eyes, but I can handle a pocket-sized catastrophe.