I never know more than yesterday, unless I say hello to today –

My place.

I spend hours in this place.

I am at my desk where my books are to the right and left of me. Words, countless words surround me; fill me, and always inspire me.

My treatment vest is on, shaking me. My nebulizer I am holding in my mouth while I am typing, as the words are looking for me, searching for me. My headphones are on and the beat awakens me.

I feel the energy rising inside of me –
I find myself in my place and it comforts me.

No big moments here, just small ones; making their own way –

I found a poem I wrote in 1991. I was in 7th grade.

“Of course
The clouds are warm;
The hill of rocks are for death;
Old age is restful but weary.

Of course
Our (minds are) full of words;
The wrinkles on (our) faces are warm, but dry.

Of course
The Lightbulb is alone all by itself;
God is the eyewitness for life.

Of course
Our hair is like feathers on a birds back;
The bird’s eggs are for life and refreshment.

Of course
Life is mysterious;
But so are we – ”

And people are funny, aren’t we.