My shoulders hurt from fighting my invisible demons.
The vital parts of my life are radiating away from me with a force I cannot compete with. I'm being drawn and quartered. Fragments of my current understanding of security and love are being scattered around the world. Maybe it's normal.
But maybe it's not. And perhaps there's a reason people are so skeptical. What if the people are right? Those people. The ones who draw upon the resources of an entire human consciousness to warn those who have not heard the tales of admonition. Tales of heartbreak and inevitable failure. They make us live on the safe side, they make us wear sensible shoes and save our best clothes for an unnamed special occasion. Look before you leap. Those who advise so often seem ill-experienced. Experience is multi-dimensional. It's seldom simple. It's intimate and unique. Advice is generalized and cruel. It's sharp, with little width or tolerance. "Don't" is a terrible word. I admire those who do the leaping before the looking, the ones who follow primal urges and fairy tales. Who are careful, but not fearful. The people who let themselves fall in love and aren't afraid to go the distance. Who take the advice given by the advice-givers with a grain of salt. A whole salt shaker. A quarry of salt.
Tell me we're going to be okay.
Those people are swarming.
They smell fear.
"The dust that Pancho bit down south ended up in Lefty's mouth."
It was your birthday. Happy birthday.
It was the first time in two years I didn't spend the whole day cooking. Hot faced over boiling water. Biting my lip while whipping cream by hand. Glue and sugar and sticky fingers. Arugula, lemons, blackberries, ginger, curry, carrots, popcorn, truffle oil, rice wine vinegar, chocolate, ravioli, butternut squash, eggs, nutmeg, pine nuts.
And, pistachios.
Celiac disease is a pain mongering, vile creation of Satan and communists.
This is our new frontier.
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