Any other thing

Someday I will get to the point where my first impulse, when hungry, will not be to think "how can I put this off? How can I distract myself?".

I delay gratification so poorly in every other way.

Oakland Park Boulevard, 6/12/12

While I often think about mortality, and will willingly talk about it, I balk at writing about it. Printed words on death seem either too glib, or too fraught, or too sentimental. (Discworld's DEATH being one notable exception).
Committing the words to paper feels like tempting fate.
Tonight I had (as I often do on the way home in traffic) a mortal moment. Not due to any near-collision or car malfunction -  but the proximity and the possibility put me in a reflective mood.

No thanatological revelation.
No poetry.
No resignation, and no real fear.
Just this one sentence: I will always want more life. I will always want more life. I will always want more life.

Saturday, bored. A quickie:

Two-cent persuasion
such a breath-sized snip,
A pinch -
I love this trinket; my finger flaunts it