Yuck means yuck

When I think of all the gross things I stuck my fingers,
that I tasted,
that I played with as a kid, I cringe.

I remember poking at a captured leech for hours.
I remember spending much of five years old with a finger up my nose.
I remember sticky shirts, dirty faces and dirty bathwater.

When I say yuck, I mean yuck.
I would like to save you the embarassment of my memories.
Drop it.

Yesterday is gone

I’ve spent too much time feeling bad about what I did yesterday.
Yesterday is gone.
I cannot change it.
I cannot edit my actions.
There’s nothing I can do differently.

Think about yesterday, yes.
Learn from yesterday, yes.
But obsess about yesterday?
Please no.

Yesterday is gone.

Youth isn’t appreciated until too late

I went to French Fridays tonight at Taylor’s Refresher.
We’ll take you, it’s where the grownups take their kids and everyone is happy.
The kids can scream and run on the grass, the parents can have a glass of wine and some french fries.

Watching the kids run and run and run and run
made me wish for that kind of energy.

I remember when I had to grind my teeth to absorb all the energy I felt vibrating in my fingers.

I wanted to rundancescreamtwirl.
(Part of growing up is realizing appropriate rundancescreamtwirl time.)

But by the time you learn when and where to rundancescreamtwirl, it’s too late.
(You’d rather chase the opposite sex or download music.)

Or maybe take a nap.

I want to appreciate your youth.
I want to give you appropriate places for rundancescreamtwirling.
I want to try it out, and maybe muster energy for myself.

For lately I’ve been so tired.