dinner at shohko
maybe we spend our whole lives, understanding who we are. suddenly, i realize (even though i’ve realized it before) that my parents are still learning to understand themselves. that’s exactly what they’re doing, each day. over and over and over again. maybe i have a head start. maybe, by the time i’m their age, i will understand. maybe, with all the money that has been spent on therapy and medication, i will figure it out. i’ll grow and move beyond before they were even able to inch forward. it’s not about “beating” them.
i listen to the same song on repeat.
i sip my tequila, and type on my, now sticky from tequila, keyboard.
i hope to process these thoughts, and convey them…digest them. let them simmer and soak. braise them like duck. red wine, shallots, salt, pepper, garlic. they become soft, chewy. i can digest them. they enter my stomach warm and comforting. they sit there, occasionally sending their warmth through my entire being.
it’s either that or the tequila.
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