There are few things that are certain about my life. Ever since i can remember — juggling, tightrope walking, and fire breathing — has been well indoctrinated as part of my vocabulary in my language of living. In fact, i take pride in distancing myself from routine and being unpredictable.
It’s wrapped, i know. But I would happily trade braincells for dopamine; seek clarity from errancies; awaiting adrenaline for and from crisis.
maybe it’s age or the biology of this vessel that keeps my soul. It craves for more order now, some pillars of structure, a faithful system of function.
You know, some sense of certainty would be nice. Maybe.