Why my arms are so long

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This is what I do: I fold my hands and close my eyes and wait for the gusts of anger and fear to settle down. I never know how long it will take. 

Once things quiet down, I wait some more to see if anything comes up that I want to write about. While I'm waiting I start thinking "Whatever comes up, I'm probably inadequate to the task of writing something meaningful about it", which is not at all helpful.

Then I start thinking about a quick fix. Finding or coming up with a little nugget I can post that will satisfy the assignment. Then I remind myself that that is not the point of this project, which starts a round of questioning and counter-questioning that I really don't feel like going into.

Eventually I land in a place of not knowing. Not knowing what I should do next. I try to get Zen about it, and accept the not knowing. Just be with it. But that rarely works. I feel myself getting agitated, which could lead to the whole cycle starting over again, so I try to create a distraction, by maybe wondering why my arms are so long. Or why are there fireworks going off right now? Did the Giants win?

Then I think about how the Bay Area overuses fireworks. Growing up in Davis, the only time there was fireworks was on the Fourth of July, and that made it really special.