Work and free time, the salt of labor and the honey of a morning in bed. This and that, these and those. Wax and wane, pleasure and pain, responsibility and blame, ball and chain. Too much and not enough, feast or famine, crone or gamine. Good and evil. Your needs and mine. It can be about one or the other, a choice, two lovers. Or it can be about what's fair, about balance, correlation, equality. Oh, and secrets. The other kind of confidence, the kind you share in. Or a rock and a hard place. Scylla and Charybdis. The devil and the deep blue sea. Or those deep blue eyes. You and me (not I). Caught. Squeezed. The place that separates, the place that connects, the distance, the transitory life. The difference or the bridge.
***
Huh, I started that on a bus at some point, found it in my phone, and can't seem to make it go anywhere further, so that's that then.
I get up and I work, I do paid work if I have any or I try to pretend like I'm working at least. I have my days that are just me, wandering from room to room and making sure the heat is turned down in the empty rooms so that the focus can be on my room, my cozy little den, and I feel that I am writing my own quiet story on my heart. Other days I have coffee, lunch, tea, dinner, each with a different person, and when I go to bed at night my skin is thinner than parchment and I wonder what I am doing but then like any palimpsest I start again. What stories shall we tell ourselves today? I've been thinking about Scherezade lately.
I got locked out of two online accounts recently because I couldn't remember the answers to the security questions. Questions I am prepared to answer promptly: Which eye I would rather have a patch on. Whether I would rather live in a tree trunk or in the branches. My least favorite vegetable. How I will die. Apparently the name of my pet is a stumper for me though, so whoops.
Sometimes I feel absolutely overflowing with news, with things I want to say, stories I want to tell you, so many more than a thousand. And sometimes I don't. Most of the times I hover where I am today, in the middle.
tuckova 
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