Miles and Smiles.

I read Greek myths to my students today. Ovid wrote most of the modern renditions of the myths we read today. He picked some up, translated some, spinned some and revamped others.
What we're reading is Ovid's paraphrasing. We don't speak Ancient Greek or even Latin so we presume he's got it right.

I think that's what most of us do with lust or love too. We pick up the street jargon - the slapped down, reworked, revamped, paraphrased notes on love and claim it as our own and then we go around proclaiming it from the rooftops.
Maybe we'll never really get the original. Maybe there isn't an original.
Regardless, it doesn't hurt to reference and do some digging of our own.
So anyways, this quasi-analysis on the origin of the myths takes me to...lovelike or lustlike or likeobsession, likelove even?
Definitely not loveLove cuz we'd know it if we saw it right?

Today is the day I got over someone. It took a year.
I got an email from him asking for advice and looking for answers and I realized there were no answers to be given because there weren't any question marks anymore. Anywhere. They all turned upside down and transformed into commas.
Commas separating feelings that I didn't feel anymore.

Today I woke up, went to work, read his email, went to yoga, came home, ate some cheese cubes with chocolate over my sink like a weirdo and realized I'm empty.

Like Pandora's box where all the bad stuff (and hope) came out. There's nothing. Just an empty box. I imagine it shines. I guess I'm shining too.
The bad stuff left and so did the hope. Sometimes hope hurts more than the bad stuff.

Now there's not much left. Instead there's anticipation and a feeling of Newness.

I used to listen to Bob Dylan's Born in Time on my runs back in Toronto. I'd put it on repeat and just tear down the sidewalk. I imagined I was a tumbleweed in Nevada or Nebraska or Santa Fe or something. You know...the rugged good kind of run. I guess I ran to keep hope around. If I ran fast enough I'd leave some bad behind. I'd let hope hover.
Fuck it. The bad stuff will come. And it will come with hope. Always. We don't need hope when things are shiny.
We don't need running. We don't need.
I do glorified streching now. It rocks.
Got a mouth sore. Put honey on it. Food of the gods: honey.




Honey works for everything. Like my mom always says, "honey, honey works for..everythng" Yes it does mom. Yes. It. Does.