fast like tape

holiday shopping makes my heart rate soar, my throat clench, and my mouth dry. I am pretty sure this qualifies as a panic attack. I am shopping for people I have never, ever met. Okay the lines and the carols and the incessant beep of the scanners has worn me down. I have never done "chirstmas" before. Ideally I would spend the next six days recuperating from the trauma of this morning. Alas it is time to meet the strangers.
How do people do this year after year? and for heaven's sake, why?

puddles

Rain is a northwesterner thing. "I love the rain, I'm an Oregonian," I say for the 37th day in a row. Rain and trees and Gortex are what make us Oregonians and, to dislike any of those would be down right uncivil. On a darker note we have exactly nine hours of daylight, but who's counting? Winter is time for sleep; my schedule of classes and work muck up my natural inclination to sleep with the sun.
Did you know I have a second life as a fish? my new PR is 31:23 for a mile. That's down 3:35 from earlier in the term. I am hoping that with some serious dedication and a little bit of oomph I can break the thirty minute marker in a few months. I know you're gripping your seat in anticipation; don't worry, I'll let you know.
Being an athlete has been the biggest challenge for me. It is hard to keep swimming when the pool turns into lukewarm Jell-O. I used to quit, but not anymore. Now I keep going. My arms windmill and my legs they keep churning. Stroking and breathing and kicking and gliding across the pool, I look fast in my new suit.

parrallelism

Days are succinct, flowing quickly from one to the next. What strikes is the momentum of a thought: this is time, passing. Then it's gone. Dreams linger into the morning, colorful nodes of my pure logic. Life is fair, just, sacred. Life hasn't got a remedy, save to live and more if possible. I suppose it is the fear of crossing the shadow to happiness that keeps us from it. The unknown's shadow, too, is lurking a day beyond tomorrow. This moment should be different or, I more in control. Is life ever completely in or out of control? no, it just sort-of-is. I think that is the most difficult fig to savor. I can accept that life is in or out of my hands; to accept the polarity of assertiveness and flexibility is formidable.
If I could linger a moment longer in my tensions I would crack. These tensions, they have a purpose. To remind me I am alive. I know I am alive, because I feel the tightening screw in my chest cavity. A better way to feel is to be active. If I chose to be active, then my life is full and my chest is loose. I breathe deeply and feel even the tops of my lungs expand. I experiment and bring in as much air as possible, then pause, and take in more small sips until no more air fits. I move the air around my lungs; lungs are not balloons, that is a misnomer. Lungs are spongy. The air filters into my blood and my organs work. I breathe deeply and force my lungs to aerate: this breath is life.

oh friend

linger- sister-
breathing wind and oh the wind
boughs reach, ahh pleiades
if love could hold

ease this-
no desire, comfort
eiderdown nest-
oh memories are weak

no charm holds
oh desire, it is you
whipping the moon-
linger sister