That Ol' Black Magic

I've taken to doing a writing excercise that is supposed to help me side-step my internal censor - the voice that says, "You're boring and can't spell." Essentially, the first thing I do in the morning when I wake up at 5:20 am is turn on a light, reach for a notebook and pen and write 3 pages, longhand, of pure trash.

I don't know where they come from but I wake up with black & blue thoughts: "I hate work. I don't want to go in. The hospital is so political. My toenails are too long. Should I dye my hair to match my eyebrows? What the hell am I gonna wear? Maybe I should learn how to knit something other than a stupid scarf. I'm tired. Wish I could sleep in. Why is my ear ringing? I'm not looking forward to this winter when I won't see the sun for 4 days straight every week."

This morning, after tipping over a large glass of water as I reached for the light - the entire glass of water - on me, my sheets, my pillow - I wrote this: "Maybe I should go to Hawaii this winter."

This is what I found at work this morning: An email from a good friend asking me to go to Hawaii with her because her parents have an investment condo there and it's hers for a week in March. Free place to stay in Hawaii for a week!

I call this MAGIC.

When I told Valet Kris about the magic, he informed me that magic is 'evil' and that this was a 'miracle.' I told him he's 'Krazy' (only he didn't know I was spelling that with a 'K' because we were talking). Magic is all about being open, not closed, to new ideas and thoughts that come my way. It's about receiving the knowledge that floats about on particles of light and waves of sound. I for one refuse to live in a world without magic.

Besides, I'm pretty sure miracles are reserved for really important things, you know, like statues that weep blood.