Here, I have it when things are goin' my way, it seems. I suppose I ought to strive for unconditional detachment? Sure. When I get home again. My real home. So I suppose I reserve the right to lose it every now and then, for as long as I am here.
Or maybe not. I ought to just 'let go'. Been here just a tad over a hundred days. Everything has always been spot on target, and a couple of days ago it moved ahead of schedule. I also have a month that is in limbo which I may or may not need which I reserved for things falling apart on me.
Nothing to do today, except take care of the stables and the equines. I don't mind that, at least. It's snowing lightly as I write this. Me thinks I may reserve my discretionary time today for sheer hedonism. Do a little cross country skiin', tay by the fire after I get home, sit under the hot water pourin' on my back after that, work on the poem I owe to Mullethead, and see if both of my dears feel like a concurrent wild afternoon.
Aye. Let go. Just take things one day at a time, until it's over.
Until I change my mind.
I'm sure I will.
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