A sore little spot happened and disappeared. Patience is not overrated. Profundity is.
The last year started off with sickness, phbbt, and my immune system executed a perfect back flip as a lot of other things went the other way. I was mostly angry, furious, to be precise, and I failed to live up to my own expectations. I grew miserable, dreaded each moment, heard voices, and was not patient in the least. The threatening, evil fury shook me up, and when it settled around me, I took a shower, ate, and left the house, often without a direction, or fell asleep. I was paranoid, and almost embraced my fury, as it stopped me from thinking. ST, I fought vehemently with you, and you put up with it all. You have no idea how much I love you.
I know for a fact, that each and everyone comes with one bag, one song, one story. This universality makes me feel like a whole person again, and compels me to touch my toes, sigh, read, eat a biscuit, bake fancy cakes, and long for things yet to blossom. This keeps me sane- all the surfaces.
