Lost Habit

There was a time when my mind raced with a sharp edge. Now I struggle cutting room-temperature butter. I’d like to think it is my circumstances, that unhappiness dulls the sheen of my life and that I have the wherewithal to create change. My purse is full of coins insuring that I can indeed do just that. But, as always, it is a matter of action. Thinking only gets me so far into my paper bag.

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