I ate 90% dark chocolate on a Wednesday night. It’s half way
through the week. My life is on stilts, tinkering
with the thermostat like an icicle dangling on the branch
of a tree. With five drips of powder, a keg of lime, I
poured myself a gin and tonic. I laugh at myself
because someone told me awhile ago they liked this drink.

I used to hate the sound of children laughing. It’s okay now
that I’ve gotten older. I used to hate the ice cream truck
as it strolled down the corner. It seemed so long ago I had
all of this irritation inside me with no where to
pour it
apart. I now find another way of holding it in.
It holds itself in like the carbon in a diamond.
It reinforces itself like cobwebs on steel.
It is this other life I have — the one I have now — where
my experiences in the past seem like a dream.

Just kidding — I still hate
ice cream trucks.