The bottom of the pitcher of Kool-Aid is always the sweetest. No matter how many times I stir, the last few cups are always super-sugared. Don’t confuse this with complaining, however, the boost is welcome.

My mode of transportation came out of the shop yesterday, only to go back in with the very same problem. Three hundred and sixty dollars, and they didn’t fix the problem at hand. I have to wonder what the hell they did fix by swapping out the “electronics control module”. Of course they can’t call it a computer. Two hours of labor. Two hundred dollar part.

I have the sneaking suspicion that I was right about the magnitude of tonight’s bitch-slap.

Reason has returned to the land of Who I Am. The fires still burn, the floods still rage, and will always do so. But the stars and the night sky have wrapped me in their velvet warmness.

A dreamer leant some inspiration to me today, and it was just what I needed. A dream of a far off place in a far off time doing far off things. She and I have healed a lot of things between us, without that kind of effort that makes you wonder why you’re doing what you’re doing. We’ve healed by just being us, and that’s storybook perfect.

Apparently, eggs come much closer to tasting perfect when you cook them in threes. There is a completely different taste, and it’s just what I usually want. That, and nothing seems to stick to the pan. Yeah, it’s the little things that are important. Like completely scouring the Michigan Talent Bank yesterday. Like scouring the State of Michigan openings today. Like being determined to walk to the Union to work on my book.

Anybody have a spare hard drive they’re not using?

Meditation and I have never gotten along really well. My mind wanders so quickly and so far that calming falls away to storytelling. I latch on to the easiest distraction that comes my way, just for something to grab onto. And, in the worst possible scenario, the quiet and even breathing and environment brought about by meditation drops me into sleep and the accompanying earth-shattering snoring. This chain of reasoning leads me to one conclusion:

Active meditation.

Active. Motion-intensive. Most likely something involving exercise and use of strength. In this, my mind is occupied by the process of moving the activity from a step-by-step algorithm in my head into something that I just do. The breathing is still even, but it doesn’t lend itself to sleep. Not to mention the release of excess and stored energy that’s involved. The bits of my life that point toward this as a solution are nearly infinite and completely obvious. Which is, of course, why they’ve remained unseen and ignored.

Taking the first step into getting back in the habit of daily exercise is scaring the shit out of me right now. More than when I started Kung Fu. More than when I stopped Kung Fu. Why is doing the right thing freaking me out?

“If you shove a shit-ton of energy into and through the third eye, something’s BOUND to open up.”

Her eyes widened in what seemed like shock and a touch of horror when I said that. My voice was business tinged with mischievous.

“I’m sure you’ve learned more control since then.” “I wasn’t even really trying, I was just being.”

My mouth curled in a smirk when confronted by the only person that has ever beat me in an all-out energy push. And he wasn’t even trying. My energy is under the faintest amount of control, which is better than it was that day. I still favor the massive blast vs. the surgical strike. I always played Colossus when I played the X-Men arcade game.

Visualizing is only the first step in putting will to reality. Motion with purpose must follow.