Be patient with me over the next year, kid. It’s the end of the beginning. Or perhaps it is the beginning of the end.
Don’t get hung up on boxes. They’re overrated. The edges are sharp and you get paper cuts on your heart. Color outside the lines. Leave yourself room to walk out. Try circles or rhombuses or heck, go wild with a dodecahedron.
…aging on the way to old? Well that is too much. There is too much raw energy, too much bare anger and rage and all the feelings worn on the outside, showing, demanding we look.
Once upon a time, on a late Friday afternoon, there was an itty bitty slip of a thing–or as itty bitty as a 5’9″, thirty year old woman could be. She was so teeny that she wasn’t even wearing a bra and there was no jiggling or jangling. It was like Miracle on 14th Street….