Friday, September 2, 2011
Instead, the birds are chirping away like they're having a karaoke party and I'm wearing shorts. SHORTS. The indignity.
I'm reminded, quite vividly, of picking up a glass of what I thought was water when I was a child and taking a sip. It was milk. I spewed white everywhere, not because I dislike milk (I love milk) but because the mismatch, the distance between my expectations and the substance that slopped over my tongue, was terrifying.
Maybe the lesson here is to have no expectations. To feel at home nowhere. To come to the world with the blank, peaceful mind of the yogi or the zombie or the inordinately inebriated.
I prefer to remain curmudgeonly. Avast, summer!