Cycling through

@postaday 192; #postaday2011.

In pursuit of a perfect world, I try to work out everyday, I make the bed every day. And every night before I go to bed, I clean up the kitchen, I clean up myself, and I pick out clothes for the next day.

But the perfect day eludes me. Each day is mostly OK and some are pretty darn good. There are good hair days, good pants days, good skin days, and pain-free feet days. There are days when conversations between friends are effortless,  and other days when they are strained. There are good money-saving days, good bargain-hunting days, rewarding pay days and feel-good pay-off-the-bills days. There are days when the food I put together pleases everyone, and there are days when I put together food that even I wouldn’t eat.

Like I said, most days are pretty darn good. If I examined life even more, I might determine that there are cycles my body are winding through: fitness cycles, restful cycles, cycles that flow through sharp and alert to clueless and oblivious. Who’s to say what’s best? At the moment, I’m feeling as though the synapses aren’t snapping as well as they should. I could blame the daily cycle of afternoon, but, I do think this dullness has been gnawing at me for about a week now. Now cycling in is a sore throat, a weariness, and therefore a need to rest, relax, refuel, and recede.

No matter how tireless our heroes and no matter how talented our icons, their inspiring achievements can only lead us to the edge of our own dreams. The rest is up to us. Sometimes the flight of life is bumpy with turbulence. I’m just looking for a comfortable place in which to cruise, an attitude with altitude, that keeps me afloat when mediocrity or disappointment cycles through.

And yes, I know…

Angelica: I have no response to that.
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By lavagal

Hawaii Kai wife and mom. Melanoma Stage 3a Cancer survivor. English Language Arts teacher, English Learners Coordinator, and Paraprofessional Tutor. Super sub teacher. Dormant triathlete. Road cyclist and Masters swimmer. Gardener. Mrs. Fixit. Random dancer. Music Curator. A teenager trapped in an aging body. Did you know 60 is the new 40? It is.

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