Did I ever tell you about wising up in the span of one winter, not recognizing myself in mirrors again, shifting again, burrowing again. I have imagined every scene of this life. I wanted every minute of this life once, when the alternative was living alone in my head.
Think of a wayward rocket, all sleek and speedy and impressive, propelled by a bright flame, but random in direction, ever changing course and missing every target. Getting nowhere fast. Too distant for recall and nearly out of fuel.
That's me. I don't know if this perpetual outcome is a positive impact on me, but I feel great. I am content with how things are. The bad things make the good things so seemingly incredible. Baking cupcakes and watching syndicated episodes of Roseanne are a relaxing night for me - well worth the exhaustion of a work week.