Empty

I remember how I used to blog on a daily basis back in the day and now I find it difficult to come up with an interesting sentence. I've been carrying the handwritten journal around and that's been getting more action then it's seen in years. It's where all the ugly thoughts go, the ones not pretty nor shiny enough to be on the internets, not meant for public consumption.

After meditation this morning my body told me that yoga should not happen for me just yet so I made breakfast and marvel that I can drink orange juice again without my throat capsizing in pain. Life is good.

It still doesn't feel all that weird not to be working. I don't remember what day it is, but that doesn't seem to matter much. I seem to find enough things to fill my time. I remember the last few times I found myself jobless I would work myself up into high blood pressure and sweaty palms. I craved company and people but everyone was at work. It depressed me and made me feel like I had no purpose. Silly me. Job does not equate purpose. It's just a thing I do in between the things that really matter to me.

My day is laid out wide open before me waiting to be filled and it is as comforting as an empty apartment I can walk around naked in.