December 26, 2013

There was a time in my life when I became proficient in making a seal to store cocaine in small quantities, I could fold a tiny envelope out of a shiny piece of magazine in moments, without scissors. I could measure out just the right amount of powder from one of those seals onto a fingernail in a bathroom stall while ten people waited outside impatiently and waited for the toilet to flush.

There was a time where I could soar uphill a river on wet rocks and always find footing and never fall.

There was a time when I could read three Nancy Drews in one night, during commercial interruptions for the Partridge Family and the Brady Bunch.

There was the time I survived my father telling me he had Altzheimers. I was nineteen. I didn’t think I’d make it.

There has been childbirth, and sobbing toddlers, and bad breakups and great love affairs and wonderful vacations and horrible moments when I realized I lost my wallet or my house keys or faith in finding whatever I believed I lost. I’ve found most everything, even when I stopped looking for it.

It is magnificent, that this life has given me enough time to be so many different versions of idiot, mother, lover, hero and ass.

And that I still have a big, huge sprawling life left ahead of me.

I can’t wait.

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