Delusional and gracious while fat and punitive. I swear small conversation has never reflected such truth, made me so bored or taught me so much.

We never sleep, never leave, never arrive. Neither of us. So if there’s safety in numbers, why am I so scared of you? Such big talk for such small minds. It must be that the focus of our discussions just isn’t sincere. So, it isn’t love after all. Is it? It’s fear. You won’t leave if you never arrive. And we’ll never sleep if I the boogey man in my closet is keeping me up.

Change is so hard. Correct. Evolution has taught us such. Usually that’s saved for an object leaving your life. Not behavior. Right? We’re all set and warriors when our faithful icons have worn out their effect and we have to put them away forever. “I can no longer go there, wear that, call them…,” ad infinitum. It makes my hair too frizzy and my butt big. But what about when the icon turns out to be how we pass the salt? Are we then even able to see that? I must, must, must now ask myself, does passing to the left really satisfy me? Or do I know deep down in my soul that it’s to the right? Or can it be that sometimes I can just nudge it in your direction? Can the direction sometimes change too? For so long I skipped the salt and went au natural. I felt safe. My heart beat a little longer without all that extra sodium. But Oh Salt – you Curious Bitch…

Excuse me, but please – don’t take away the salt. Can’t you see? It’s all I know now. All I know is all I have. I believe in the salt. Anything else just isn’t fair game. Anything else just seems black as pepper.

After enjoying a little flavor, I finally see that it isn’t love, it’s fear. My focus has been so insincere. I didn’t know. I thought I knew. It was only that I believed it. Now my hair’s totally frizzy and my butt’s getting bigger. We cannot have that. Ah, Sweet Vanity, you are my Eskimo. But my faith has become ingrained and the palate is so rich now.


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