on never being able to stay New for long

I read something somewhere that said you should be kind to people, because every one is fighting their own battle. But I forget to be kind to people, because I forget that I'm not the only one that has bad days, and other people get cut off in the bike lane, get yelled at by the boss, and things like that.
But some times I like to think of a place all to myself, where I could invite people to come over and have a meal, or read books, or play games, or maybe just sit for a while. I don't think I would like to have a lot of decorations, but I would take donations at my guests' insistence.
In other news, I noticed a rollee-pollee on the sidewalk, and also saw a dog that looked like he had a chocolate milk mustache. It was pretty cute. It didn't feel like a Monday to me, which is a nice feeling.
I am already starting to feel nervous about what happens in June. Maybe because I don't really have any idea, but maybe mostly because I have little control over big changes. I should learn to be okay with that.
There is a verse in I Thessalonians that says something about living a quiet life and minding your own business and working with your hands. I would like to try to do that. I also would like to be more kind to people, especially people I am close to, and especially people that have let me down. I know I say this alot, and it's not much, but it is a start.

6.

some days i wish you had better hand writing.
&more ways to smile than those upturned corners of your (sometimes) chapped lips.
some days it is too hot to be out of doors,
so i turn off the lights when it becomes dark,
and lie on my bed as helpless as the day i met you, World.
some days i am sorry for the ways i have comforted You.
&wish that i could create a new soul for that mistreated clay.
i tried-wanted-did. honest!
some days i am too busy thinking about the future
to remember what it means to exist.
some days i don`t talk to You.
some days i don`t read Your letters.
some days.
oh! i am certainly sorry for that!

The Summer Day, Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don`t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn`t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

you can`t have one without the other.

I miss the rains of kindness you showered over me so freely
That I did not even mind getting wet.
Oh, precious son, where have you gone?