The lemons still keep coming. But their acidity stands interrupted. These are my very deep thoughts as I stare at
buckets and buckets full of lemons in my current world view. Such deep thoughts that eventually
transform into unrelenting apathy, or vivid fantasies about becoming a world famous juggler who juggles expertly while standing on a single steady foot.
The lemons in this analogy are caustic emotions.
I used to think of emotions as natural and valuable – as
long as they were mine – as long as their pitch was not so high – as long as their
expression not so dramatic and repetitive.
It was the “as long as” that got me into trouble each time.
Lo and behold, a regular influx of drama queens in my life, who are bursting
through their fragile skins with abundant sour emotions – tasting bitter and
sending unwanted and rapidly dissipating shivers down my hidden places.
The need for relentless attention. The want for undeserving
appreciation. The fragility of core existence. The victims of every
interaction.
Yawn. Burp.
Is it too much, or is it too much for me? Am I simply too
arrogant of my adversities – faced and overcome without organized crime,
religion or therapy?
Did I lose my vulnerability with pride, like young lovers lose their virginity?
And when the fuck would I learn to make delicious chicken curry?
