May The Bridges We Burn Only Light Our Way
- Dating, For Ladies, Raunch
Last week I received the worst possible news on top of worse news. Like move away to kingdom-numb and hope people write–news. Later in that same week the best news overflowed with more good news. Eat a whole tres leches cake and puke it up to celebrate–news. Like close calls. Failures. A little drowning. Tears so wild and hard my eyes turned brown, not red. Headache. Then rest. Rinse and try not to re-heat. I just don’t want to climb that high again. Somewhere there’s a ceiling asking me why the sky’s not my limit. Alkaline water works. I’m trying to stay grounded.
Congratulations are in order – shhshh let’s not talk about it yet. Give it time, let it alone. I often find myself counting the babies of the chickies that haven’t laid eggs yet, naming them. Then dreams deterred. Miguel’s “Candles In The Sun,” melodiously in the backdrop (“May The Bridges We Burn, Only Light Our Way”). Dave LaChapelle art theme, like the most beautiful mind-rut. Or what have you.
Very surrealistic-ish. No, really.
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