i yam an egg

driving home tonight, the air crisp, my windows cloudy, i felt content yet very alone.  i wanted to want to share my life with somebody.  i had happily yakked with my mom and sister and even my little 2.7 year old nephew on the phone, listening to them yelling about various, familiar, comforting things.  i had a beautiful night with a free ticket to the Ford, where i’ve always wanted to show a play, and under the stars, watching a documentary on addiction and sexuality, listening to 90’s grunge and covers of hole was refreshing, and dare i say it — fun?  it took a while to clear out of the parking lot, and i couldn’t help but think of how today my boss had called me charmed, and i realized that i had helped to clear or close another legal-political victory.  it feels a bit like a run, and i know how much of it depends on my ability to capitalize on the incredible abilities of others.   i am a player putting something together, stringing together hits without thinking about the record-breaking streak, superstitious, paranoid, and suspicous.

i got down past santa monica on highland.  the trees lining the streets were mature and gracious, unobtrusive and soothing, familiar friends.  i am not looking back.  i am running free.

it was one of those unescapable moments.  i knew i was lonely, but i couldn’t think of a friend, a lover, a soul that i really wanted next to me in that moment.  i was scared that i was okay alone.  i was scared that so many moments i find myself not matching up my personal happiness with being alone with my desire to have a family and children of my own.  does that make sense?  i couldn’t help but think that i was like an egg.   you just can’t know by looking at it whether the inside is raw or boiled.

there is something about an egg that is so fragile and yet so strong.


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