I just wrote the following in an email to a very dear friend:
Fish don�t live on land because they�re too smart to want to be anywhere near those stinky humans.
The sky is blue because it is depressed about all the damned humans that it has to look at all day.
We will only get there if we keep dreaming.
We will fly if you want to.
Elephants do fly, it�s just that we can�t see them.
Pigs fly more often than moms think, because they�ve forgotten how to see them too.
That these words fell from my fingers gives me hope. I wish I had the words to explain why to anyone who doesn't understand. But I don't. Some things merely appear fully formed in your own sense of childlike whimsy when you need them badly enough.
On Sunday afternoon I brightened from a (well-earned) daze to realize that this weekend was spent maturing.
I know that sounds odd but I have no other name for it.
On Saturday I learned of responsibility, the very air stirred me from sleep at five o'clock and from there I was running, laundering, tidying, organizing, preparing, chopping, lifting, working.
Then Andy and Alana dropped by and equipped with a veritable armistice of tools we made holes upon holes upon holes in the dining room wall, which still stands broken and bare until next Sunday, showing 80-year-old latting, and hairy plaster dust everywhere.
On Saturday evening I collapsed; sore, but accomplished, and happy.
... I'll finish this later. I'm late for my ultra important dinner date.