Can you recreate an old photo of yours?

 

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I’ve been noticing something that’s been happening more often.

A little podcast to dip the toes back in the water and break the cobwebs away.

I like to play a little game. I call it…Countdown to Green

Here’s what you do:

1. As your driving up to a red light, start counting down from 5 ( you can make it 6 or 7 if you like ).
2. Make sure to count calmly, so that it’s a real second, not a pretend second.
3. By the time you hit 0 the light will turn green.

Will it? Really?

Maybe. It works all the time for me. And every time it reminds me that I’m still at the steering wheel of my own life.

I’ve never been one for sitting down and making a list of things I want to accomplish. Reason being – 3 days in, the list has already changed.

Originally my resolute friends said my lists were too generic like: “more exercise, eat healthier food, blog more”

These were not concrete enough.

The next year my list was “Go for 20 minute walks every lunch hour; have carrots for dinner on thursdays; blog Monday, Wednesdays and Fridays”. I heard a resolving “yes” from my friends.

But then… I got bored.

I like to call myself an ebb-and-flow-kinda-guy. Routine and I don’t really get along. So, you could imagine that these regiments didn’t make it past the first week.

So now – I come up with a theme. Think of it like a musical score – and every scene I’m in, you can hear a Baritone Saxophone melody.

Here’s some examples

• I’ve had “Fire” to put some urgency in my life
• I’ve done the “Snake” to help me shed some things ( snake skin, get it? )
• I’ve used “Earth” to find solid ground.

Think you’ve got it?

So what am I going to do this year?

I’m thinking either a “Stereo Speaker” or a “Care Bear”.

Can you figure out why?

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“Smell Like a Monster” brought to you by the word “on”

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On The Bus.
Between Wiretap and Six Pixels
I eavesdrop on two effeminate boys
talking brawl in the “old days.”

“We are the only generation
where kids after us are tamer,”
the one with the heavier lisp
crosses his legs tightly.

The emo pierced boy agrees;
flails his hands in theatrical motion
“Oh no! You’re going to tweet this!”
He mocks imaginary aggressors with high pitched squeals.

They continue to lament
the feud of Sooke & Langford
as if they were from the House of Capulet