RE: The Last Six Months.
If I could write a letter to the fickle flock of geese that is/was the Last Six Months, I’d say a lot of things, such as:
Thanks for the downright tropical Christmas weather. Drinking margaritas while wearing exercise shorts was a very mid-Missouri way to celebrate the coming of Christ.
Where in hades are all my missing socks? Because it’s winter and the mismatched look only works if you do it on purpose. Plus, wearing socks in varying degrees of thickness and texture is sort of like driving your grandma’s car – your feet feel way off and things smell kind of funny.
Forensic Files, thank you for taking me to the darkest corners of my mind. Also, that episode that took place in my very hometown made me reconsider who my neighbors really are. Also, I own two dachshunds who will rip your face off if you try to kill me and bury me in my own basement (which is not very conducive to burying people, anyway).
Other things I’d like to say about the last six months:
I found my “line” and it is a speck in the desolate landscape of my ever-evolving life. Touche, kind madame.
You thought you could wear me down, but you are wrong. Wronger than an overdone steak that was flipped too often and not allowed to rest for 10 minutes before consuming. Also, I know how to cook a steak. Do you?
When you thought you had me pinned, I bet you were surprised to find me slamming down the minor victories, like putting my pants on without assistance, or tossing my loaner crutches in time-out (because they’ve been bad, bad, crutches). Or NOT climbing down stairs with the fragility of a newborn fawn (or, more accurately, a person who has had two knee surgeries in as many months).
If you even try to pull what you pulled on me these last six months, I’ll beast mode my way through it again. Like I do.
Put that in your dollar-store recorder and smoke it.
– THE MAVEN