First you have to know how it feels so when it happens, you can dig your heals into that place and refused to be pulled out of it by any silly notions that you're not exactly as you were formed, loved, perfect as you are. Who do you think you are?
What love looks like for me. Most days, anyway.
|The other days, I forget who I am, and need to cook my heads a little.|
I was trying to do the math back and forth between how many published posts and how many unpublished drafts I had. Word problems. "It ain't me, babe." Exasperated that I couldn't do a stinkin' word problem, I called the resident guru, leftbrain, fastball dodger. His reply to me, the woman who'd been lobbing heat at his head all week, was
"You don't read for content. You're listening to the music and the melody of the words, the beauty of the presentation, not the information." Then he gave me the answer to the word problem. Love people... maybe even more juju than roux.. just maybeBlog post 100. yay.