Commitment: I will say no more often, express or document my gratitude, update my blog more regularly.
Here’s some art, photos and other recent stuff from my life without any context.
Take stock of the important stuff I say. Monday morning and I’m at ease. I feel in control of what I’m able to control. No need to micromanage events, mental or otherwise. Enjoy your burrito, you’ve got time.
And I’m still thinking about work.
Gaslighting is my least favorite type of lighting.
— erin mallory long (@erinmallorylong) 20 de enero de 2017
This was a day off work, but was it, really? I got a lot done, despite not leaving my room before 11 am. It’s almost as if my body and mind refused to step outside for a moment and face the new reality we’re entering. On the other hand, when I returned from running errands I encountered this inspiring and defying message on tv:
Reading about the activist/artist’s intent, it certainly gives me hope about the future, both as a Guatemalan and overall human being:
We chose this message because Americans are currently debating whether we should focus on the economic concerns of whites who feel marginalized by economic and social changes that favor diversity or the ongoing struggle against systemic discrimination faced by women, people of color, LGBTQ folk, and others. This is a false choice and is keeping us distracted and divided while Trump and his fellow global elites consolidate their power. We need to realize that a nation that values some people above others – be that whites above people of color, men above women, or rich above working class – can never be truly free. It is only when every human being is represented and cherished equally in policy, economics, and social dynamics that we will have achieved the “more perfect union” our Constitution aspires to. “We outnumber him!” is a battle cry for that more perfect union.
Two words for Duffboy to live by: sleep hygiene.
Things that have me excited: personalized sticker art that I’ve been working on, becoming vegan again (this time, I’m going for the gold!), and the fact that Leia and Mishus have been hanging upstairs once again (my cats’ health was a concern for several weeks, not too long ago).
That is all for now.
Got really late at the office today. Spent most of my day dealing with belated tax issues that will enable me to collect back payments, from my freelance copyediting gigs. Noticed that my left front tire is dangerously thin, and deformed. Wonder how many days should I continue driving the car like this…
The loan money is almost gone. However, it made a lot of things possible while it lasted. I’m re-reading, for the second time, Haruki Murakami’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. Stopped and thought about page 47:
At any rate, that’s how I started running. Thirthy-three — that’s how old I was then. Still young enough, though no longer a young man. The age that Jesus Christ died. The age that Scott Fitzgerald started to go downhill. That age ma be a kind of crossroads in life. That was the age when I began my life as a runner, and it was my belated, but real, starting point as a novelist.