It is the year of the serpent. Been awhile. But what matters the future, in truth? Better to bless the now and stay adaptive. Do what good you can with every hour. Even a week is too much future.
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Took a bit of a rest, as I sometimes--often--do around this time of year. The holidays give unto me in key ways, but some take more out of me some years, and this one was extremely demanding.
Caught covid this January! First official bout with it. My inner child is blaming my feelings of near-escape and fear around my friend catching covid recently. Likely has more to do with my losing almost all my body fat and hitting a body weight lower than when in eighth grade, making it the lowest of my adult life by a significant margin. Also forgot to get my booster last fall.
Had indeed been working too hard. In too many dimensions, in too many spheres. Forgetting to eat all the time, rushing ahead instead of slowing down. Relapsing into cigs yet again was decidedly no help.
Hey hey so what with the taking shitty care of myself theater! Fuck the past, gone already. Dead and buried. I am much closer to fighting trim, covid notwithstanding, and my game is still about me. Potential damage to my kidneys? Not thinking about it! Cranberry juice. Any of the myriad effects covid may or may not have had upon any random bit of my system? Positive focus, vitamins D and C. I cannot be stopped.
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What else has been new. Well. Rest assured that though I did not blog, I made my mark on this world daily, using a wide variety of pigments on a great many surfaces, literal and metaphorical.
On a related note, I have been asked not to spray-paint anything inside the house ever again.
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Seeeeee you soon! For how long? Who gives a fucking shit. Lists next time--something predictable, eh? And I know how much blood goes down to the genital when I bring up lists. A spicy amount. Yeah. I'm here for ya, perverts.
--JL
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