Com-Panacea~

Sitting at my keyboard pounding out words like Beethoven, (if only I was deaf to the comments in my head). Thoughts chirping away like a magpie on a fencepost, or in this case, my shoulder. A bad omen of thought. I need to slingshot it and move on. Nothing remotely uplifting has resulted in this neurotic symphony of thoughts. My truth is this- the only deadline I’m facing is my own ego telling me, “You must get this in gear, it’s what you’ve wanted now enlighten, brighten and beam.”

When my internal compass is allegedly “off”, I have this inability to see past the feeling. The feelings become a flask flood. That’s correct. I don’t flash anything. Intentionally.

With that written, the truth is this. The compass is never off, it just leads me down the path of realization. “I’m exactly where I am supposed to be” can be music to my ears or a burden as big as a pebble in my shoe.

That annoyance will send me to an imaginary bed tucked under the covers. Which I must tell you, only exists in my head. My DNA is to never quit. Push on little Injun that could!

Fortunately for me the internal compass always resets itself and the cure is this: I am muddling through, sometimes with a limp. Because well, it’s bound to an old paragraph and releasing that into the Universe has become the lyric to a song that, when in tune, is the marching band within the parade passing by.

Drumroll please.

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