Aah, so this isn't how the match was struck, but it is where and when it was so carelessly tossed into the pregnant, crackling, dry grass, starting the conflagration that nearly engulfed us all. A perfect storm of scarce commodities: time, space, unlimited free WiFi, and liberation from the constant refrain of "mom, mom! MOM!!!!" A space in which creative juices flow freely, dancing to the beat of my tribe, a mentor not a mother, a colleague and a lover; shackled only to the tapping of my keys.
To be myself and nothing less, unadulterated, uncensored, unmasked, that is true freedom. And in that freedom I let go of everything, including the things that really matter, because sometimes holding on to them is just SO FUCKING HARD. Sometimes, in that incredible lightness of being that comes with touching souls that recognise yours, you spring a leak and begin to pour out into any available vessel that offers that same level of acceptance and admiration, because it simply feels good. Feeling good is great, but sometimes it comes at a very high price. My addiction was words, not heroin, but I don't know which is worse.
Sometimes we cling so tenaciously to the good feels that they start to eat us from the inside out and corrode the more important things that don't always produce such euphoria. And then we return to reality on a long sliding, painful, bumpity-bump that is worse than the nastiest hangover and have to shake ourselves back into reality.
That's just life. Sometimes you can swing so high it feels like you're flying, but eventually you either have to slow down or jump, and you never can know whether or not you'll stick that landing just right…
How's that for drunk text? Happy fucking new year to all my beautiful readers. I hope 2019 doesn't school us all with quite so many hard knocks. Peace and love.
