How tenuous our grip is on even those who are closest to us. Day to day we act as if we own these other creatures… “my” son, “my” girlfriend, “my” brother… when the reality is that what we actually share is the tiniest bit of overlapping existence.
It’s Sunday morning, and I’m sitting in the middle of what feels to me like a room full of artifacts. A pile of bent-up staples ejected from the antique Swingline on my desk, a half-dozen stuffed animals, legos, toy trucks… chaos created by a six-year-old who just left, clutter so weighted-down with emotion that I can’t yet move to dispel it.
Clutter and chaos that I’m not strong enough to lift yet.
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OMG, Ron. You’re a looker...expressive and smart and will you marry me? Please? I LOVE...
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