An Eviction Notice For Your New Lease On Life

Have there been too many I should have's orbiting around this week?  Do you find yourself keeping an oversized rubber mallet handy to bludgeon the Listless Gopher -- intermittently emerging to cough up spores of wavering regret into your psychic atmosphere.

Would you  say, at least entertain, a precognition of admittance, that you've noticed a stark, subversive, wraith-like brevity to your passion.  Are you sleeping well?  Are you sleeping alone?  Do you sleep well with your current partner, lover, husband, wife?  Is there a ubiquitous solution to the stuck arm while cuddling with your loved one?  Even in the throes of sleep, do you find yourselves reconfiguring with ease, a cohesive unit?  While walking today, outside, in public, will a smile erect itself across your visage, prompting the curiosity of passers-by?

Perhaps the armadas of self-doubt have sailed superfluously for too long?  And if you're expecting a metaphor analogous to docking said ship why don't we aim higher and simply sink the fucker?  Let's make it past-tense, tense-no-more, more or less a reset button, a bailout, time to bribe your local notary public and shred your new lease on life: because, trapped underneath your unpaid bills and sale papers, the Alderman's latest witch-hunt and the poor soul inquiring if you have, in fact, seen him or her? -- there's better documentation to carry yourself in accordance to.  Amidst the enervating errands and obligations, you'll find, even in sporadic bursts of light, a tangible passion, a plausible beauty.  And you'll want - - so very badly -- to hold on to it, to exploit it, to explore it.  So Magellan: in your travels today I'm going to humbly ask you have a one on one with your trusted cartographer and put a moratorium on his trajectory, because brother: it ain't workin'.