5:30 a.m.  I awake to a horrible ringing in my ears.  It takes a while for me to realize that it is only the chiming of the alarm clock.   The shower feels so good I don’t want to leave it.  I finally step into my day realizing that it isn’t the big things that will destroy me.  It’s the devastation of the day-to-day that will be my undoing.

The contrast of the freedom of vacation with the servitude of the day does not escape me.  I work less hours for less pay and the money is never enough.  I see my future wiping trays in McDonalds or as a greeter at the doors of a Wal-mart.  It’s hard to get excited about what lies ahead.   This line of thinking is like dipping myself in acid.  It eats away at me.  Time to write.  I’m looking for salvation.  Maybe the words will take me there.

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Roll Away Your Stone


It’s 10:16 before I crawl out of bed the second time.  Once the kids were off to school my enthusiasm to begin the day left with them.  I crawled back under the warm covers and slept again until 10:16.  This is not the morning of a go-getter.

I wake up and chide myself for this dangerous self-indulgence.  This type of self-indulgence sings a siren song that calls me to itself.  It is not productive or helpful.  It leaves me feeling empty, used and useless.  I should know better than to answer its call but this morning the comfort of a soft, warm bed was all that mattered.

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Deer and Driver

Image Source: johnlund.com

I cried today.  There are things in my life worthy of tears.   I usually don’t go there.   Avoiding the tears makes getting through a day much easier.   Underneath it all, those sad pieces poke at me and make me uncomfortable.  It’s like my own psychic hair shirt.  Just thinking about a hair shirt makes me itch.  Hair shirts always seem worse than sack cloth and ashes.   But, I digress and on purpose. . . to avoid feeling. Continue reading

I am the person behind the words printed here. I write because my heart will not allow me the option of NOT writing. It has taken me half a life time to discover this basic truth, but now that I have, writing is as natural as breathing. This is where my breath takes the form of words.


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The Miracle Morning: The Not-So-Obvious Secret Guaranteed to Transform Your Life (Before 8AM)
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