There is a discourse within, of all the valuations of life.

Trees and ice cream and cars.
People, places, politics.

The self, my actions, their consequences.

Sometimes, this myself needs review.
And this is good.
Very good.

But the process is stressful. It taxes me.
Wears on me.
Not that it fails.
It succeeds.
But where success takes you, when you evaluate yourself,
is a breaking down of the parts,
a letting go of things you’ve clutched to you,
an awareness of attitudes you didn’t know you had.

Good.

But dismembering is tiring.
The complaint, is not, a reason to not do.
I do.

I write not about the day or week tiredness.
But about the tiredness as the self starts to feel worn out.
When the edges are worn so that the world is hard to deal with
in its little problems.
When the need for a sidewise step, is more than can be cogitated.

And the still the process remains.

This writing is healing.
It renews refreshes.

It is a good way to return the energy to myself.

It is creative.
Alive.