The Bottled Ox decides

that this new year must deliver stories, experiences, travel.  Then he decides that he’s going to be the one deciding.  No more anything or anyone deciding for me.  Ever.  I’m feeling lazy from the hour and thinking about the long day ahead, which shouldn’t be too bad with there only being a wine club party on the books… but my mind’s everywhere right now.  All over this couch and room and street, varied consciousness.  Hear the neighbor start his truck, off to work at San Quentin.  Couldn’t imagine…  And I have the nerve to complain, ever?

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