Who ate all the pies?

I know, I know, I'm unforgivable. I wouldn't blame you if you're fed up to there with my nonsense, or more precisely my failure to write about said nonsense in a punctual and reliable manner. I'm such a disappointment to you.

Trust me, I know just how you feel. I'm very often similarly disappointed with myself. When will I ever just get my shit together and move on, you and I may both, on occasion, wonder? Why do I always seem to get stuck on one thing, and then another? Why can't I just be one of the women that glides? You know the ones I mean. The gliders. Smooth. Elegant. Eternally in a state of not-stuck-ness. They just move right along, right past you, like they're on goddam ice-skates.

Me, I just hop from one pot-hole to the next and sprain my ankle in the process.

I have never been a glider. I am a serial pot-hole monogamist, in all aspects of my life. I can only truly care about one thing at a time... and that time is usually rather short. (This is starting to explain a few things, isn't it?) Relationships, jobs, geographic locations, hobbies, you name it, I've gotten hopelessly stuck in one and suddenly moved right along.

It's time to make a change. From this day forth, I vow to be a serial pot-hole polygamist. (What, you thought I was going to get up and start to glide all over the place? Let's be serious. Rome wasn't built in a day and all that...) Or, put in a slightly less unusual visual metaphor, I will have many fingers in many pies. I will find a way to be passionate about a plethora of wildly inconsistent things, in order to avoid becoming a boring one-apple-pie kind of girl or overly crushed when said apple pie falls apart before I'm ready to move on to the rhubarb.

Okay, now things have gotten so weirdly metaphorical that I'm both very confused and rather peckish, as I assume you are. So let's just leave it there. Things they are a-changin', that's all I'm saying. Details to follow.

Before the turn

The "part one" reference below would seem to preempt a "part two." But part two is not in me right now. Part two has gone awol. On a hiatus from the here and now.

Much like me.

So we're back to "part... zero." Or, in more accurate scientific terms, "part n-1." What "n" turns out to be is anybody's guess right now. Less than 10 days ago, "n" was an almost-certainty, but that's science for you. Everything seems so nice and definite and logical and then all of a sudden Pluto's not a planet and maybe some things actually travel faster than the speed of light (or maybe the calculator's just broken).

So we're back at the cross-roads. I've been here before, it seems. Like a child in Dedaleus' labyrinth, I turn a corner only to reach another (or is it the same?) fork in the road. And not a Minotaur in sight. But the deluded optimist in me tells me this time, the turn will be the right one, whether the path is more or less traveled by, it will be the path for me. My path. N-th time's the charm.

But before the turn, I take a moment to stand still. Collect my thoughts. Accept the blank slate before me. Or not so much a blank slate but a letter, that has been started over and over again, crumpled up and tossed in the trash, then pulled out and pressed more or less smooth again. (Remember those? Before the advent of the deceptive "delete" button?) But you can still write beautiful words on crumpled paper, surely. Can't you?

So wrinkled and smudged, but hopeful. This is how I start out today. At n-1, once more.