postceding prospects of an unforeseen new year and a too stressful christmas

my eyes are too tired from being awake. my stomach has been fed, but is too hungry to remember it. my fingers are mindlessly tapping on the keyboard. or rather, they are tapping mindfully–the only appendage that seems to want to work when everything else shuts down.

as a writer, i am pleased with this mind/body relationship.

when people get stressed, tensions rise between even the most passive of lovers. yet, i find our stresses are not the worst of our worries. exhaustion: tiredness due to anything. whether lack of sleep, lack of food, lack of feeling. . .

it is this tired attitude that creates our unfortunate submission to stress. but we do little to combat it. we let our fingers tap abstract thoughts while we look up ways to increase the energy capacity of our bodies without doing what our bodies need most, sleep. or perhaps, we do too much.
we down cups upon cups of coffee. we take herbal supplements to gain that 5 hour energy boost. we peel back sugar wrappers, popping them into our mouth without a second thought.

or we think too much. self-diagnosing thyroid ailments for prescription remedies whose side effects include drowsiness doesn’t help us or the other drivers on the road. intoxication is not limited to beverages consumed past midnight. slepping should not be limited to eight hours.

but here I sit.

the capital I referring to my self.

leaning back on the porch of an off-river house in the upper-class-still-southern-Florida rural outback. too cold for gators or mosquitos, one would think it’d be perfect weather. family and friends huddled in blankets half of the time and the inside overtly hot. maybe the off-season is always off for a reason. or the dec 26-jan 1 on-season being spent in high rise hotels or universally attractive theme parks makes suddenly more sense.

but my eyes close and fuzz over. my stomach constricts my thoughts even when my fingers could continue to type and type and type.  . . . . . . . . . .

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