I am 11 and we live in the booming metropolis of Waterloo, Iowa.
My mother has taken to sewing a lot of my clothes so I have too many pairs of brightly colored, stretchy bellbottoms with elastic waists that rest just under my armpits.
I have been foolish and wishful and blind time and again—all in the name of love.
I think about love—how it can set the table or flip it over in a tantrum. How it can feel like riding a willful horse—a horse who knows you’re not a strong rider and keeps walking you into the trees. How it can be like a wild animal that rips you apart and makes a quick meal of you.
You thrill me.
You with your reading skills—reading is fundamental. You with your sharing my posts with others—sharing is caring. You with your returning to the scene of the crime and reading more.
Thank God they didn’t shoot Seabiscuit.
They could have. Might have been easier. But someone wanted that horse to run so badly that they did all that extra…
I recently was flying home from the holidays and decided to play a little game with The Universe. Before I got on the plane I made this little request: Have the person sitting next to me teach me something—something about career, writing, relationships, life, myself. I’ve got 5 hours in 1st class and the liquor will flow—let’s make the most of it.