Ramblings and then a poem

I haven't been writing much in the last two or so weeks and I don't want to fall out of things, so I am sitting here now with no idea what will come out. I have not lost any part of me, but fallen into a terrible habit of distracting myself with meaningless goals: vacuum the floor and then go write. Well I still don't feel like writing so maybe let's go to the store and buy Cedar chips and make the house smell better. Lucas looks like he needs to wrestle. 20 pushups and then write. Well first let me check Reddit and see if I can't find something to inspire me. Okay now it's 5:30 and Jessie wants to go to dinner and I do as well, so writing can wait. Maybe along the way I will find something to think about. Now it's 11:00 and miserable with guilt. I need to write. Why did I wait for freaking long? It's a purge that needs to take place, that if left unchecked, begins to overflow into other parts of life where it does not belong (that sense of confusion/irritability in a situation that at any other point, would be another moment passing unnoticed). It's maintenance; similar to pruning a tree so that when it comes time for fruit, the branches will be strong enough to support the extra weight of apples. I'm beginning to ramble now when I mean to talk directly about interconnectedness. It's all about checks and balances. I can't continue to put off writing out words because the pile will grow too large and my broom too small.If I don't write, and I sit here all day thinking about how I should give up looking for a writing job and go get a job digging ditches. At least then I would come home exhausted and have a real reason to not write.

I've been thinking -rather extensively- lately about managing every aspect of life. How miserable of a task that is to give yourself. Here man, let's think about the endless possibilities of the smallest happening in my daily routine. You enjoy that kind of stuff, right? This is my mind asking me what I enjoy. I know what you're thinking...this man is rambling and crazy with incomplete sentences and thoughts. Just what is he talking about? If you're reading these words, good for you. I just needed to get out my walking legs and put these fingers on the keyboard and write.

In the incomplete light I see the dance outside.
You're waving me on with those golden-orange
fans I call your hands. It's a dream I think,
but the wind feels nice on my face.
You're so adorable in this light but I cannot find the words in my mouth
so I smile.
There is a man sweeping the sidewalk
and I cannot help but think how miserable clean lines are.
"I'm afraid of sharp edges," I say to you, still watching him sweep.
"Step into my warmth," you say.
"So long as you don't tell me how," I reply.