Somewhere there's a burglar (I like to picture the McDonald's Hamburglar, because it makes me laugh, thinking of the horrible Sexy Hamburglar costume we drew for a Halloween giggle) with all my notebooks. I say notebooks as if one of them were not actually a diary. There was also the poetry I wrote in November, un edited and therefore suspected to be awful. They were stashed in my purse.
In my briefcase were the checklists from all my monthly projects as well. I had just set up the March projects. They were to take the time to set a daily intention (almost meditation), write the intention down, dance every day, and wish a happy Facebook birthday every day.
And speaking of dance, my laptop contained my homework for my online dance class with John Doyle. It was just a goofy practice dance to "Let's Go Crazy" by Prince, taken with the webcam.
Any of these items, in the wrong hands, is the end of______? I can't worry about respectability, because here I am putting it all out here anyway. I dance even goofier in real life on a monthly basis. Why does it make me so sad? Is it because it is not released under my control?
It doesn't matter. It has been done. And I am going to keep doing it. If I stop now, the Hamburglar will have won.
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