I want a drink. I want to drink until I die. (Not for dying’s sake but because drinking is the only thing I want to do. The. Only. Thing.) 10 bottles of bourbon lined up in a neat little row, a hotel room with a balcony that overlooks the river. In another version of reality I jump. In this one I don’t. And I have to live with that. The wanting and the not having.
The sun is a giant ball of fire that will kill us all if we don’t destroy ourselves (or something else happens) first. I’m okay with the sun. The sun and I are friends but not in a weird way (I don’t want to marry the sun).
Something (you don’t have to believe in god) out there has a plan for you. See, you’re not dead yet.
I love the ocean. The ocean is also terrifying.
Gravity works. For now.
Every morning my cats demand to be fed. Every morning their demands are met.
I know for sure that it might rain.
I know for sure that there are people out there who love you (even if you haven’t met them yet).
Things go. Whether or not they go the way you want them to is debatable.
Telling stories is the best thing in the world.
This came out of watching Anne Lamott’s TED Talk, 12 truths I learned from life and writing, July 13, 2017.