Days

Some days, it all seems too fragile to possibly hold together. Everything could spin off its axis at any moment, and we'd all go flying into the great beyond, scattered like seeds, inconsequential tiny parts no longer of a whole. We've shored things up here and there, piecemeal, against slings and arrows, but fortune is outrageous and doesn't care much. One gust of wind, a wrong turn, a decision made by someone else, might throw it all off.

(I don't know how people who don't have all that I have stay in the game at all. I would just sit in a corner and cry. No, I wouldn't. I'd do what I had to, but I wouldn't have time to think fancy thoughts and write them down.)

Other days, everything hums along nicely, and life is easy. (A little too easy. Nemesis must be waiting to clobber me.) Time stretches out to include the things we want to include; a trip to the playground can last as long as everyone's happy. Then, snap. The lack of a snack makes one turn on a dime and casts a long, shouting, crying, kicking shadow over the rest of the day.

As Alexander's wise mother said, some days are just like that.