The wonderfulness has been increasing since the election ended. Much less bovine metabolic waste smudging my inbox. My celibacy from the news of the day has been chipped at by facebook (which I had fairly abandoned in the last weeks of the battle of twits). Yet the wonderfulness builds.
Babies are dying.
Babies are growing.
Babies are learning, always.
Babies always seem so innocent until they grab a knife and point it at you.
People are dying.
People are having sects.
People are learning, sometimes, if convenient.
People always seem so innocent until they grab a knife and point it at you.
Despite these horrendous times we live in. Despite not having wi-fi. I'm coming out. I'm coming out, the deception has gone on for what seems to me to be forever. I'm coming out as myself. Proud to be me.
Oh yes, me. Not a wish or view or need of someone else.
So, I'm sixty-three and I accept myself for what I am. Is that the wonderfulness I've been feeling grow? I prefer to think so rather than a premonition of Mayan catastrophe.
It's my choice.
I am, after all, the only one possible to be me.
You? You're someone else.
So am I.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
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