I'm feeling a little pent up right now. My consciousness is circling my brain anxiously looking for an outlet, but I've connected them all wrong. All my old outlet nozzles are connected to nothing inside and my inner tubing keeps dead-ending just under my skin. I could bleed it out through my pores, but why.
But I gots the open relationship squirmies and I gotta get it out. I got the "my body wants to movey-groovey" and I gotta let it out. I got the words in a jumble, but I gotta write 'em out. I got ye ol' yarn ball of anxiety and repression and I gotta start pulling strings again.
Pulling strings is good. Pulling threads is life. I pulled one and left the dry desert of Reno for the lush fields of Portland. I pulled another and at the end were handsome dudes and lost knowledge. I pulled a third and knitted a nice sweater.
I need to allow myself the privilege of sweating and howling at the moon and cultivating and co-sharing with curious confidants before I get the deep down crazies.
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