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Unpacking life’s chaos and circles isn’t always a choice.
Before breaking, she considered the edge of normal an ideal — cluttered with the screw-ups who couldn’t handle life. Now she’s engaged in a bonkers conversation with her heart and mind as she and her mental miscreants scrabble through a facetious struggle to figure out life after loss.
She soon discovers leaping from ‘normal’s cliff’ is a sloppy free-fall of rebirth loaded with cosmic oddities and ludicrous miscues. Standing on her edge, she wonders whether living beyond the boundaries is worth the cost of stepping off the abyss into the unknown. She’s about to find out.
Discover what happens in this unique, insightful story about when your mind breaks and you have to learn the true meaning of living.
Breath flowed as she looked at her lawyer.
Come on, take notes! There are steps, and it’s important to do things in order. I’m paying for this expertise.
I am tired.
It’s not as though Emma and I don’t share a personal relationship here. She’s been in my orbit for twenty years. She isn’t helping me for the money, and I’m lucky to have guidance that gives a crap.
“How are you?” Emma asked, and she met her eyes, letting the storm show, the visions of death heads and tumbling.
Emma was working through her own loss, and the parallel helped. Their shared normal meant nothing to anyone outside, but between them were hard truths that required space for kindness.
Back in the car, she sat with the trappings of togetherness. Tidy file folders of certificates, wills, and documents, and a laptop bag with the bits necessary to show her shit was in an orderly pile and not spread across the Universe in a howling mess. There was a tap on the glass, and Emma’s face hovered.
“I thought you needed a hug,” she said, through the declining window.
A hug? A straitjacket might work. How about a life that makes sense?
With a nod, she climbed out of the car and embraced Emma, the act salving and healing them both.
We may drown, but I’m grateful to have this star in my fucked-up miserable sky.
That night, she gave Sad Heart bourbon, but outside, with the dogs and the stars. Today was more endurable than yesterday. Sort of… maybe.
“Hey, Standby Platitude,” she told herself. “Here’s a high five. Hooray for playing at normal.”
At least, a half-assed normal… the world was such a see-saw, a seep-saw, a monotonous ride of hitching tears and careless cuts. She poured another normal, er, bourbon. Then two more.
Fueled with brown boldness, she cleaned the kitchen, stagger style. Glass raised to the dogs, swaying, she self-toasted.