It is snowing and I do not want to write

It is snowing in Michigan, the second big snow of this winter. We had one other big snow sometime in November, and I enjoy these moments. Icicles line my neighbor's rooftop and the area just above the entrance to my laundry room. I would love to say that means no laundry, but it's actually me cackling to myself as I unlock the door at arms-length, and rush inside as quickly as possible.

I've been in a funk the last few days, just wanting to watch netflix. I love being engaged and stimulated with activities, and sometimes I still just feel like laying down. Maybe what my soul is really wanting is a nap, present rest, allowing mind to float. Or to read, escape into another realm just for fun.

I opened my laptop because I know the words will come, and it always feels good to get something out. It's like spending time with myself, writing.

Really, a lot is going well in my life. I'm into this focused flow at work, getting a lot done and working around people who are joyful and honestly hilarious, the director of my department is growth-driven and a positive thinker. It makes a big difference to have coworkers who are funny, harmonious, and really just a delight with whom to rendezvous. After all, I'm spending majority of my time-- it's a gift my colleagues are so wonderful, so silly and so creative.

I look around my life, and I'm living what I wrote down only 6 months ago. All the intentions I set on New Year's eve, for 2022, have come to fruition, have become habitual behaviors or regular characters in my life. It's nice to remember that what I want is coming, and that what I intend, always comes to fruition. And 6 months, even just one year, really isn't that long.

I want the rapid growth that I've recently intended, I want the full rounded thriving, of course I want to be sharp and focused, "have my shit together" be the hippie equivalent of a girl boss or whatever, but I'm tired. Maybe I'm just needing a good rest before the New Year, maybe it's okay to binge a show every once in awhile, maybe it's good to just let the soup in the freezer defrost, a serving of the bulk batches I'd made weeks ago, for these exact nights.

Part of me perhaps has been hesitant to write because I'm not so sure who is reading, because I put out a handful of poems that I needed to get through my fingertips, and I want every post to be a proseful beauty of which I am proud. Though I am remembering that not all of my writing is that flawless artistic beauty, at least not what I am actively trying. Those beautiful phrases, the one liners or artful posts come naturally. So I will let this post be more of a journal entry-- because this is my blog and it is meant to serve me as an outlet.

So I will leave these words here, lingering out into the interwebs, or perhaps saved as a draft, and let myself be the ever-evolving being I am.