A co-worker of mine's father just died today. How you ask? Skiing accident.
Then it left me to wonder; how much of life do I let slip by without REALLY enjoying it?
As Stephen mentioned in a past modesty entry; safety couches will be the end of us.
At one point I did have an actual safety couch. I could lie down with the lies and forget that I was really happy. The person sharing it with me, only once drunk claiming emotion and love--didn't really care. But I'd tell myself the more I pushed my limits, the more he'd want me.
I told the story to The Poet the other day and he managed to phrase those two years of my life in a single sentence "You kept getting your heart broken over and over."
I don't know how my mind set when from someone passing to the safety couch, but it seemed relavent.
Wonder where my couch went? The school brough in a dumpster to clean out the old theater and The Poet and I loaded the couch into the dumpster. And that was the end of my safety couch.
Get off your safety couch bloggers!
P.S. Aunt Flow just came to town. I've never been happier to see her.
No comments:
Post a Comment