Azalea

"Life is self motivated," he had said.

Motivation.  She'd never been motivated in her life, there had never been a need.  Is being motivated a habit? she wondered.  Or is it a trait; like being clever, or charming?

Either way, she was 236, so it was time to try and find out.

Nervously, Azalea speculated on the pressures of doing things.  It seemed as if most people had had goals and been working towards them from as early as their teens.  But, she had also heard, "it's never too late..."

She thought about this phrase.  What was the original conclusion to that sentence?  What if it was something like, "it's never too late to bake cupcakes" or "wrestle that bear" or "buy new underwear"?  The possibilities were endless; though Azalea hoped it had been a food related conclusion.  Waffles preferably.

Anyway, she realized he was right and it was time to get on the proverbial ball.  Azalea loved that, proverbial.  You could slip it in anywhere, just like how every sentence has the potential to begin with the word "actually".  Wholly obnoxious, but grammatically correct...

Still, the spring in her giddy-up was still a bit less than self motivated.  But, she wasn't bothering with that for now, as long as they got her moving.  Besides, she was more satisfied that way.

I might say its about half me, half him.  She thought.  He's motivated.  And gorgeous.  And veritably thoughtful.  I suppose that's why he's the Philosopher.

He always got crazy, wonderful ideas, and Azalea loved them.  Then she loved him.  And then he made her want her own crazy ideas.  Bluebeard couldn't always hold of her reins.

"I'm going to work the yards today Zel," he'd said, "I'll be home once the weeds are tamed."

First chance.  Short, but sufficient.  Bluebeard was gone to sing peace into the weeds and bring a bit harmony to a garden or two.  What can I cultivate on my own?

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