One of those days.

Today was one of those days. The whole expanse ahead of me, free for the taking, grasping, filling, experiencing, living —

and I sat, looked out the window, into the tea, ate another biscuit and twiddled my thumbs.

There are so many things to do, to create, but I forget to start any of them.

I’ve been sitting here, scrolling through a variety of sites, telling myself to close the computer, open the book, paint the canvas, knit the scarf, and yet here I am, dumbly reading about celebrity romances of the past, taking another buzzfeed quiz, telling myself just fifteen more minutes, just fifteen more minutes, just fifteen more minutes.

It’s been a whole day of fifteen minute increments and I haven’t done a single thing.

Even this post falls into the trap. What have I told you, if not the same thing over and over, altered slightly, but still dictated by commas, run on ideas, lists to better hone the sentiment?

I’m going to put on my slippers and get the mail.

You are going to fail.

As inevitable as spilling coffee on yourself before work,

as telling the woman at the concession stand to enjoy the movie too,

as dropping the overpriced mug you just bought on the hard tile floor,

as checking his instagram the day after you breakup,

as bleeding through the tampon,

as sleeping though the alarm,

as ruining the white shirt,

tripping on the crack

forgetting the name

deleting the draft

arriving late —

Yes. You are going to fail in these ways and much, much worse.

But here’s the catch, the redemptive loophole, the end left open for your own interpretation:

Your potential is more resilient than your failure.

Bend, stretch, bounce your soul  — beauty lingers there yet.