Well, it's all been a bit like a Shrek fairytale feature film. Everything's going great and then–BAM!–life happens. By Life I mean, REAL shit, like getting a cold which turns into getting my gallbladder removed. Life meaning, looking for a place to live, a place to put our art and our bookshelves and have sex in our own bed, or in the kitchen if we want. By Life I mean making dinner and doing dishes and going to work and then not going to work because I got sick. Life is the stuff that makes up... everything. As far as I'm concerned there ain't no vacation baby (read my book) because I don't want time "away" from the doing. I want more "time on" for the doing of the things that really matter; such as reading and writing and meditating and having conversations that bring tears to my eyes. I like that. Life happens. Life doesn't happen to me, it happens with me, while I'm sleeping, while I'm pooping, and brushing my teeth–that's Life. Life is the letter from my uncle, Andrew, just to let me know he's thinking of me. Life is my green tea in a red cup and Jesse coming home late from work and my belly growling. Life is, Just This.
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