Health Tips

We wait.  That's what we do.  Like the Guinness commercial.  A lull in the action as work lessens and ideas percolate, filtering through the porous surface of the mind into the realm of possibility.  The realm of reality and action.  #getreal is the hashtag.  What of that sentiment, and the other tips?  The need for reminders to drink water, to move, to stretch, find a routine, create joy.  Should it not be obvious?  Is this a way to live, having to remember such mundanities. 

I am almost ready to write.  The different star trek episodes and random movies underlying story structures.  How to tell them?  What to tell?  The start in non-fiction, maybe its constraints will serve as a liberation when shed down the road.  Or is the fact that it happened the key?  Both true.

“Like most time paradoxes, it is implausible, but not necessarily illogical," says Tuvok in Relativity.  Everything seems implausible at the moment, everything changed.  The calls on Zoom no replacement for human interaction, no replacement for the joy of movement.  The Scotch club reminder about how every story can become their story, the pompous aspect of becoming an expert in a narrow field.  The Zoom windows into each home, into each individual experiment.  So much of this seems to echo that overall Black Mirror context.  Lives as experiments inside a simulation.  Randomness at work, the myriad directions.  Tick follows tock follows tick follows tock follows...

400 billed hours into 2020, where will the next 600-700 come from?  Hard to see down the horizon.  Next year could be the one for shifting course.  Or changing altogether.  In what direction I know not yet.  Need more time to sort it out.  But the excuse is there.  The values are not shared.  Wish I had not sold DPM, but no matter.  So hard to be right about the future.

All seems a bubble in this pause.  Reflecting on memories, rather than necessarily inventing new ones.  Reminders of what is lost, intimations on mortality.  Time passing.  Where to seek out reinvention.  I know not, yet.  Almost 50 nights, and the time soon comes to change up the routine.  Try and keep the optimism going for the summer.  For a last fond farewell to the Southern Cross on the occasion of her 10th anniversary.  The last of the launches.

Or as the Oils sing, the end of the beginning of the outbreak of love...