Lately I’ve been realizing my purpose in life.
A psychologist, a teacher. A scientist, a politician.
More than that–or maybe less than that–a hostess of a party.
Since I was born my life has been this party. I’ve made sure everyone has their drinks, chips, and dip. People feel good. And yet…
Well, and yet. I’ll quit there.
My mom says it’s a rare thing to make people feel loved. I don’t know. Getting older is funny. You realize that the laundry won’t do itself. The holes in your jeans won’t go away because your mom isn’t around and it’s up to you to plug your own damn holes. Dinner won’t make itself. Lo, even after a full day at work, it will not. Kitty needs litter. And you realize…well, I realize. That I can’t afford to be beautiful. That He is the potter, and I am the clay. Some people you do love forever and you carry that weight. Even if you’re busy or high or in church or out of church or with your family or by yourself.
You’re gonna carry that weight.
Now, to bypass some of the jabberwocky jargon. Here are some pictures of jeans I fixed today: