There was something compulsive and invigorating about changing my mind. I had only had the opportunity to do just that at one other time in my life--and as it turns out, calling tails wasn't my finest moment. Especially since it resulted in a very violent and impressive death at an already uneasy roundtable.
It was a rude awakening to find out that, in the company of these colleagues, experience and accomplishment were not one in the same. Looking out over the bluff had made all the difference. In a split second, I could've held my own hand. Water seemed to be creeping up underneath my feet--which was usually the sign of an interminable horizon--where ocean meets sand at some point in the peripheral. Not this time--just brown wallpaper suffering its imminent demise and blurring what vision I had left.
This time changing minds seemed simpler--comfortable, in fact. It wasn't what it was stacked up to be. I fancied myself and artist and I should've known that making the draw wasn't the safe bet it had been in the past. In fact--it was blind.
Flushing my life down the drain turned out to be the wildest of cards.
A trip down the drain usual reappears at some other point on the map. Kind of like a chute in chutes and ladders.
ReplyDeleteMaybe a firm flush is what we all need!