Picture this if you will...

So, picture a heart in your mind, the way you picture most hearts. (Some people insist on being anatomically accurate, that's your prerogative.) Now picture it floating like an iceberg, where some of it is below the surface, and some of it is above. And it's chillin, literally, in a lonely part of the arctic ocean. The cold above the surface is a dry kind of bitter cold, it makes the surface of this heart iceberg brittle, and chip apart, and small bits and big chunks fall off into the deep. Some chunks stay close to the main part of the iceberg but some float away, never to be seen or heard from again. Slowly, more of the heart iceberg is below the surface. It's safer down there anyway. The icy water has a numbing affect.

Today I threw the potato away. The special one that sprouted last year that I didn't have the heart (or courage) to throw away because it was practically a member of the family. I almost named it. I probably did and just forgot the name. Yesterday I weeded the yard. For probably 6 hrs. Tomorrow, who knows. I might put all of my shoes in the closet. They're kind of loud anyway, they make statements much too often and some of them are louder than others. This slow process of silently making yourself smaller. There's zuccini in my soup. Luckily it's so mushy I can't really tell by taste. Why is it that the 'lighter' soups have to be infused with more black pepper? It just seems unfair. Why can't the light soup be proportionately lighter on taste?
Why is the sky blue? Oh wait I know that one. It's the light shining through small water particles.
Why do I get in trouble with my sister when all I did was answer her question? AHA! bet you can't answer that. I know I can't.

I don't know what to do. I do know what to do, but I don't know for how long i'll be doing it. My Matt Costa station on pandora is fabulous btw. I'm listening to it and it's nice, really. Anyway, until something seriously fracturing happens, I'll update the world on the small changes I make. Maybe I'll rediscover some big part of me under the surface that I locate because I'm making other parts disappear. Like my shoes. Maybe my shoes are drowning out my voice with their loud statements. Who knows. Anyway, poor mister potato plus two sprouts is in the garbage. Outside. He'll be what do they call it...repurposed. Like a heart iceberg. Or a failing relationship. Ooh how poetic if the heart iceberg sinks the relation-ship because of what's hidden under the surface.