Once a month, I could talk to you here. That's not so bad, not so attached. Just to let you know I exist on this plane, too. Still. Still.

Recently I was looking through my old things and found this poem with only three fantastic lines out of twelve (one-fourth? Hey! Not half bad!). It was calling for help, because when you see a fourth of a good, sweet cluster called verse, you take it. You help it. You dust it off, polish it, make it was it was meant to be.

Potential.

I think only we can see it, ourselves, when we're truly reaching what we're most able to reach. Right now I'm reaching about a twelfth of my potential, which isn't so hot. I'm confined by my own terrible study habits.

If I put forth effort, I would be excellent. That's the deal with just about everyone.

Isn't it terrible?

Wonderful and terrible.

It's wonderful that we have potential, after all.


That's it.

Stay safe.