“I’ve always liked the time before dawn because there’s no one around to remind me who I’m supposed to be, so it’s easier to remember who I am.” -from a Brian Andreas print my babycarrot sister gifted me last year.

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I’m thinking tonight.

I’m wondering: why do we settle? For less of everything that was once promised. We settle for less free time, less challenge, less spirituality, fewer meaningful relationships. We choose superficiality. We choose self-doubt. We choose the world and we starve on a daily basis. Hungering for fulfillment, for a way to spend our time, we look to the material lot of things. Possessions, acquaintances, money, “success.” All of which only taint us, tempt us, tease us. Leave us even more famished, our hearts even more empty, even more lost.

We can’t find anything to conquer. Flags everywhere. And so, we are left to look inside, to look to ourselves. And suddenly, we are looking for something else, anything else, to do. My living space is never cleaner than when I am postponing some much needed introspection.

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Sometimes I think I was conditioned to doubt from the beginning of me. Maybe we all were, to a certain extent. I hate doubting. I hate feeling weak in thought and mind, dislike wondering if there is life after this one and spending time wondering if the answer to that question even matters.

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I refuse to remain stagnant, to walk through life unchanged by experiences both wonderfully intriguing and painfully horrific. I’ve had my share of each. I’m glad. I’m proud of where I’ve come, proud of the mud through which I’ve trudged, and still I am unfinished. I’m proud of that, too.

When I met Chris I was broken. I don’t mean whimsically, metaphorically, although I’m sure that could surely apply. Truly, emotionally, I was broken. I had been brazen with my affections in the past. I had thrown my heart violently at people who had looked at me lovingly, had promised to keep it safe, and then dropped it, kicked it, rolled it around in a particularly unflattering shade of shit. And yet I kept coming back, like a beaten mutt still seeking attention from a man with a boot whose point I had recently felt, and still remembered. I take full responsibility for the ridiculousness I allowed to routinely occur. I take full responsibility for moving on, too.

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He tells her she’s fat and she’s actually listening. The next time she cooks herself dinner she throws half of it in the garbage. The rest she resolves to sweat away from her bones. An hour and a half on the treadmill, pictures of emaciated women and centerfolds urging her faster, faster still. Too fat. Too thin. Too round. Not round enough. Too verbose, too opinionated. Too quiet. Too self-reliant. Too dependent. Too honest. Too timid. Too available. Too busy. Too open. Too loving. Too attached.

Never just “she.” Never just “fine.”

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GREAT ODIN’S RAVEN, IT IS SO HOT. WHY IS IT SO HOT?

Oh, right. “Climate change.” Touché.