The Second.

On a day like today, one has to be wary of the rationalization that comes in to trump pure hope, sheer

potential, attachment to the ideal that is to come. I armed myself this year for this attack. I made uncountable new year's resolutions so as to make it harder to rationalize my way out of all hope for improvement in 2015.  Of them, I am banking that one might just stick this year.  I can't even tell you what they all are or I might talk myself out of them in the process.  I am sure they are, none of them, original.  I am sure that there are 20 somethings in Brooklyn who have accomplished all my goals, three years ago with less trash, less gut flab, more poetry and cooler leg warmers.  But I am going at it as a numbers game, and I think I might win the battle with the world as it spins madly on. Look at me.  I am writing, and there is still a chance that this might not become one of my 17 journals that have 5 pages filled (yet I can't throw away or reorganize for reasons of sentimentality and aesthetic). I am smelling the Peruvian spiced chicken warming in my crock pot. I went to the grocery store and came home without unnecessary plastic.  I have added no trash to my garbage.  I have planted a clipping and am waiting for roots.  I have contacted friends.  I have organized my reading priorities.  I have looked at my budget.  I have played the piano.  I am planning on heading to the gym...