Someone’s question made me think about how the past boxes you in.
You never used to like this, you weren’t like this, you used to do this.
All you can do is stare at the person and think, “Well, duh, I changed.”
And is change so wrong?
Why is it an act of betrayal to change, almost? As if I should hold fast to the image you have in your mind instead of breaking with life and mending in a different fashion.
Anyway, wonderfully fun vet stuff happened in the past two weeks. Not all completely relevant, maybe, but fun. Nonetheless, I dread the early mornings spent on a train and the getting in and out of my boots. I feel, somewhat, like the focal point of my comfort is the pair of boots that shod my feet.