13th Floor

Y’all know your Outkast, right?

Wednesday is always a welcomed day for me.  I’m off work, I can lift and run and attend to all the things that aren’t dental related.  It’s a free day in the middle of the week that is so welcomed, so precious and so amazing all in all.

This morning, I woke as I’m wont to do naturally, after just five hours of sleep.  It was way too early to be up, so I read a bit and drifted back to sleep.  Woke again in time to hit the gym before the litany of my errands and appointments.

At LaFit, I crushed the fuck out of my sesh.  It’s leg day, of course.  Ran a bit and then squatted, dead-lifted and lunged like my life depended on it.  (It really does, in so many ways.)  I listened to Skillrex during my workout, and the beats kept me right.  Like right enough that sweat was pouring and I was smiling after every time I failed on my weight.  There’s nothing like that.  Promise.  After, a visit with Neva and then I sat in Dryer’s chair for some revision work. 

Later in the afternoon, I transplanted some beauties and then sectioned off some succulents for new homes.  Some of these amazing plants took the ghost this winter in my faerie garden, so it’s only right I offered new light, new life, new truth.  It’s completely in line with the way I’m living these days.

Chatted with Rubin for a bit, thought about the weekend, and then sat to pages via Outkast.  Vibed with my collection of vignettes that my adviser is certain should be a novella … or a novel. Or something more.  Truth poured from my fingers, incense burned, tunes jammed.  Holy fuck, is this real life? Feeling so nourished, so complete, I thought that today was done and done, one for the books.  It’s been a pleasing enough day for me.

Feeling wholly nourished and decidedly complete, I started to prep for a delicious Pitta-Vata dinner.  Started chopping zucchini and asparagus, set them to simmer with coriander and cumin; pulled some Quorn and was thinking of how I’d season it when my phone chimed; an email.  Bullshit, probably, I thought.  Groupon or some nonsense.  Checked it regardless and whoa!   A message from an editor ACCEPTING my work.  A poem, little G Minor, part of a chapbook I’ve recently completed has been accepted for publication. 

For all the world, as Anya is known to say. Nourishment.  Boom.