Eighty-Four and The Greatness of Happenstance
I go because I want to be somewhere doing something. I really like trying new things. But more importantly at this time, I’m lugubrious and lonely and I feel hollow all the time. My heart seems to have perpetually taken on the shape of a wrenched gut, and I live with a hoarder.
Peach Pie — Of Memory, Family, and Home
To mine this impulse buried into everything deep. From the urge to take selfies to the number of children one believes it necessary to have in order to establish a family. Knitted into consumption, desire and expression is this essence which expands and contracts like a lung whose air is self-esteem and self-worth.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?