Dinner last night was an attempt to get rid of, or rather, recycle, the pasta from the day before. I had made too much spaghetti and rather than give it to the chickens, who would gobble it eagerly, I repurposed the pasta with Alfredo sauce.  It worked, except that there was still a serving left and I did not have the gumption to warm it a third time. The chickens loved it.

Yesterday at spiritual growth class I heard that the majority of what bounces around inside my head is repetitive. Recycled. Leftovers. In other words rather than thinking fresh ideas, I keep rehashing old conversations and outdated responses. 

Unfortunately, the concept rings true, but not like a silver chime in the wind. More like the gong of a heavy weight boxing match beginning another round of bashing. 

Why would I do that? There are a thousand new ideas and feelings waiting like a field of fresh snow. But instead I trudge the same path, ad nauseam, head down, feet sliding through the mush. 

I can recite pointless comments made by me or others that did not deserve to be immortalized. Their nutritional value expired a long time ago. 

Time to feed them to the chickens.