Day One Hundred and Eleven

Things grow and die imperceptibly sometimes. I try to see how I wrap around thoughts. Actually, it seems that I don't wrap around them at all, I invent myself right with every thought. I make myself up with them, along some continuum of good-bad, safe-unsafe, full-hungry, sort of biological opposites. I notice that and I can let go of the particulars because they are just things I can get done later or let go of. The 'me' part wants to let go, too if I let it. Ecstasy waits just beyond that, but then that too is a chance to put a non-me up on a shelf. Usually I prefer the problem-solving me to the free me because it has a more 'reliable' history. It's a hard one to send on its way, but better now maybe than when it is called to go by the end of my circumstances.