There’s this part where things just fall apart. I play along, then I need a break. I get sick of everything I was fascinated with before.

There a few anchors in my life, necessary to keep some contact with the world. The world that I get sick of. That I need a break from. That I have an “if I can quit this I will and onward” attitude toward. These anchors are abiding. They choose as well to be my anchors.

But sometimes I wonder, whether it was a matter of my being tired, willing to be captured, afraid of the world. I’m still afraid of the world. The world is big, brutal, impersonal. A little cave, hidden, is good. We hide in the little cave together. Me and my anchors. We’re afraid of the world together, tired and willing to be captured by each other together.

But … maybe I am more like Daphne at the core, and long ago it was hammered (wisely) into me that I have to have a human base, and it can’t the roots of a tree on the bank of a river.

There was no river god father for me when I needed him. Or was there, and I was too afraid to listen to his magic words? Frightened me. Big world. Escape. Into…

I have my cave, I have my anchors, my interest in and my contempt of the world. And right now, it’s contempt.

Every Thursday


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