October 3rd, 2011
The other day I sat on a double-decker party bus and wanted to go home. I wanted my husband on a couch with a movie, a double-ply goose down blanket and probably a pizza. I wanted a hammock in the sun and wind and time. I wanted to stop wanting. Instead, I arranged my face into some semblance of fun, admonished my inner quiet and pretended I wasn’t me.
I want harmony.
I must repel synchronicity in some way. Initially beckon it with a crooked finger, draw it close, inhale its clean breath, then blow it away.
I assure you it’s for reasons unknown.
Maybe the lines connecting my stars are opposing forces, not parallel, not straight, not even lines. Maybe they’re ziggy zags, lightning bolts, or black holes.
Or maybe I’m just me, learning lessons, plumping up the process into melodrama; making something out of nothing.
Story of my life.
The zig zags.