Where to deposit the poo?

This is where the “confrontation” aspect comes in.  Though I know I must accept this or (emotionally) die, the process is certainly not easy for me.  Following patterns was safe, but it felt empty.  Creating my own is fulfilling but feels like facing off with the school bully on the playground every. single. day.  

I am very non-confrontational.  I do not thrive on challenge.  But I am also oh so tired of avoidance, a technique that I have used throughout my life, but which is turning out to feel just as empty as those patterns.  Having arrived at the point in my life where yielding to these artistic urges is, actually, unavoidable, I would like to also feel a sense of liberation.  But this would not be so.  I suppose in the northern corner of some bricked up back room of my soul, I do.  But for now the only evidence of its presence that I have is ghostly tapping.

I tell myself that I must remember to play.  It should be fun, after all, or why do it?  But I do have a tendency to drain the life out of things.  Remember?  Wet blanket girl?

I say: “Take a moment in the morning while walking the dog.  Instead of grumping about her sniffing, and sniffing, and sniffing some more, lean your head back and marvel at the blue sky and wispy white clouds and how fortunate you are to be witnessing them.  Feel deeply how much you love her.  Be grateful that her indecision about the right place to deposit her poo has given you this opportunity.”