Interpretation by Kristin Smith Procter
I don’t know about you, but I feel like I get up every day with a big “to-do” list that I’m really gung-ho to get done, but when I wake up the gung-ho gets hung up by things like the news (which is pretty much all bad), and then I find myself dissolving into an early morning funk whereby I find my internal self scolding my external self over my bad habit of putting off my “to-do” list until “later” so that I can further suffocate what’s left of my life force with more news.
What the hell?
To be fair there are also plenty of days when I overcome that external bad habit and get to it. Those are the best days, the days when I feel most fulfilled, when my sense of wanting to give myself ye ‘ol pat-on-the-back sets my arms to flinging. And sometimes it has nothing to do with my “to-do” list. Sometimes my “to-do” list sits there festering like a whitehead waiting to pop while I work on my “what-I-want-to-do” list.
Like last Sunday. Last Sunday I ignored news and formal “to-do’s” and I sat my butt down until noon with a pen, with a keyboard, with my very own thoughts, and for four precious hours I allowed myself time to write. I felt productive and fulfilled, like I’d just let a huge weight fall off my head.
And then I went for a long run. And then I started thinking about the wildfires, the virus, the election, the division, the climate, the… news. But what have you really done today? said the Devil on my shoulder acting like a judge and pronouncing me—Guilty.
Sometimes I let the Devil in. Sometimes I fully absorb that guilt. But last Sunday I spit on the Devil. I’ve lived, I said to His Redness. I’ve taken this day and I’ve appreciated it. I’ve loved it and honored it by really living it.
And just like that, the Devil went back to Georgia…er…I mean, Hell. I’m sure he’s formulating a new plan. I’ll fight those flames later. Meanwhile I’ve got things “to do.”
XO, Michelle