I can’t seem to throw away this notion that there is inherent good in others, despite how they act and how far they will go to make you believe that they are something that they aren’t.
I can’t seem to throw away the things and people that no longer serve any purpose in my life except to keep me exactly where I am.
I can’t seem to throw away my hope that we, as a species, are evolved, despite being animals with shoes.
I can’t seem to throw away the image burned in my mind of what constitutes a beautiful relationship, despite the outside sources (and my own logic) that contradict such a glorious sight.
I can’t seem to throw away the voice mail on my phone that I listen to from time to time, even though the light in the voice is gone.
I’m just full of garbage.
I wear scrubs to work, which makes me feel like I’m wearing professional pajamas. If I go straight into real pajamas after work, I feel unproductive and abnormal, so I usually put on jeans and a t-shirt for thirty minutes until it’s time to get ready for bed. Most nights after work, however, I not only wish I didn’t have to wear anything, but I usually feel this need to take my skin off, too. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and adore what I do, but the human in me gets itchy after twelve-plus hours in a building with cranky, sick, and often rude people with high deductible insurance plans. I thank the Gods regularly for the invention of candle-lit scalding hot showers and dial soap.
My recipe for disaster. And chili.