Today I want to celebrate being alive, walking down my stairs each morning to a wall of sticky, loamy humidity, to being vexed, elated, tickled, hungry, itchy, sleepy, horny, shattered, and satisfied.
I want to celebrate being able to meet each need, to counter an imbalance, and to voice an opinion.
I want to be proud in my skin, accepting of my character, and never stop believing in the meaning of life, which — obviously — is meaning. At least it is to me.
Sometimes I think what I do here is frivolous, silly, opportunistic, but then I think about the good I can do with it. The teeny, tiny amount of good to the few I reach on occasion and I erase those thoughts and blow lustily on the little bits left behind which obscure the beautiful words beneath.