popcorn

by goatlove


There are things each of us don’t talk about. I imagine we all have our own personal burdens that we carry stacked on our shoulders – twin towers of bound books somehow balanced on either side of our ears.

You know me – I’m a box of popcorn, for crying out loud! I’m light and fluffy and hopelessly upbeat. I’m a mess of giggles and jokes and, when my conscience is unconcerned with regret, mountains of sass. I hate sad sack. Who wants to be that guy?

But also if you know me, you know that I’m constantly chewing over something, like a cud, occasionally sending it to my stomach to worry on it there. I’ve even worried myself ad nauseum over the having kids decision until a friend recently pointed out that I could delay that fretting for another 5-10 years. What a load off.

Am I with the right person. Am I in the right place. Am I doing something that matters. These questions continuously bounce around my internal pinball machine.

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