Out of tea. Out of time. Out of excuses.
[The first leaves the throat wanting.
The second leaves the body wanting.
The third leaves the ego wanting.]

The only promises that I don't keep are the ones I make to myself.
Now. Now.
Time for beginnings, or:
The smoke will keep impishly swirling,
Messes messy,
Empty pockets,
Below expectations,
And so on and so forth.
The first step is the most diffucult.
Subsequentstepsarecake.

Bad timing continues to reign supreme. Seems as if irony and bad timing are constants. And, oh, the smallness of thingsandplaces. I laughed heartily. I wasn't sure where the hilarity was or what caused the laughs to spring from within, but, oh, they sprung and boingboingboinged in the air. Another constant: the smallness of things amidst infinite largeness, or, the infallible smallness of things when largeness is required. One size does not fit all. [Growshrink before I go mad!]

Yet, am so happy.
Incomprehensible. Inexplicable. Present. Welcomed.
It really IS a choice...[to be happy, that is.]