Most days I eat right, take care of myself.
Some days I go to Starbucks for breakfast, or have a milkshake.
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Most days I stay busy, always moving, moving ahead.
Some days I just do nothing. Not many.
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Most days this urge to move is, at times, overwhelming. Come watch me pace.
Some days I can lie on the floor and disassociate.
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Most days I walk the straight and narrow, sidestepping the traps and the pitfalls.
Some days I want to screw up.
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Most days I’m up, I’m strong, I’m optimistic.
Some days I allow the dark spots in my soul to be stroked.
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Most days I want to hear something organic, something from an actual, vibrating sound source like a guitar or a drum.
Some days I want to feel an electronic trance.
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Most days I feel confident, capable, competent.
Some days I feel like I’m lost without a map.
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Most days I feel like I am the one.
Some days I feel like I am not familiar with the one.
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Most days I am here, in the present, looking forward.
Some days I want to turn back the clock.
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Most days I regret nothing.
Some days I have regrets.
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Most days I want to be absolutely professional and polite.
Some days I want to curse and yell and break things.
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Most days I want to be friendly and cheerful and proper.
Some days I want to growl…
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And now, just because I love the scene where Jimi Hendrix leaps out of his coffin and plays the guitar solo:
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