Your lover/partner/spouse standing behind your office chair, sticking their own two pinky fingers into both of your ears at once and vibrating them in unison like jackhammers to relieve your dual-inner-ear itch, while you browse the web for old-fashioned, hand crank ice cream makers and gasp at the price some people will pay for toilet paper holders.

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Last night in bed, while Shane played with my toes and the fan buzzed by the window, I told him new things I’d never told him before. So many stories. It’ll take years to tell them all.

With all the strange and varied history and such a wide array of experiences (the range from one extreme to the other would unnerve you), my life feels like the tattered, amateur patchwork quilt Kindergartners make, a mosaic of all different colors and textures and fabrics where nothing matches with anything else, but there’s a thousand fingerprints responsible for it when it’s done.

And it’s beautiful in all its handmade mismatched weirdness. To those who made it, and to the occasional passerby.

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“Change and growth take place when a person has risked himself and dares to become involved with experimenting with one’s own life.”

- Herbert Otto

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