How often do I get interrupted. If I don't write it down right away, it vanishes, worse than crickets because at least you heard them.

Thoughts have no substance before written. I'm not a thought-reader, though I might suspect others can read mine. But after years of trial, the verdict is "Make Yourself Clear." Remove ambiguities. Finish sentences. Spell out actions.

Not everything exists in present tense, though I wished it were. What makes more sense is past tense, even though I wished it not to be.

The present tense is the captain standing in the cabin of a 53-foot boat, watching the bow go up in front of him, then lurch down, slamming into cement he knows for sure is just saltwater. He maneuvers, spin-turning the wheel to face the next wall-size wave that instantly tosses him front-side up into blindness again and, of course, drops his gut suddenly into the hope that he is not just faking progress over the chopping sea.

That was present tense.

Life is often present tense with no time to think or maneuver or manage as we would like to say we are when in control of life. No, we're not. Present tense forces us to cut into the next wave just before the next dip.

I like past tense.

We made it. We made it through the storm. The package was shipped yesterday. The waiting has stopped. I thought about what I had put into the box and contemplated the recipient's joy. I closed the bargain and sat grateful. I won. I lost. I won again. I kept getting up. The past I viewed with pride. Accolades felt well-deserved. Storm-lights defined. Crickets slept.


​9:32 AM 6.7.26