wintertime sheds the skin of fear
Wexford, January 20, 2019 I sit in bed and listen to a rendition of Brahms' Hungarian Dance. Not of any particular relevance except that I'm trying to set the mood. The cat sits at the bottom of my bed, licks herself every once in a while. I can hear it when I pause the music. I don't understand why she keeps wanting to hang out in my room when I smother her with unwanted affection and she hates me for it. Truly, I do not understand cats. I'm having one of those introspective days. I think about whether or not I can define this period in my life as one of change, or of growth. I don't know if I can. Sometimes it feels like I am giving away my days and my breaths to time, as if I am perpetually waiting, not fully in one place or the other, with no achievement to speak of. But then, I don't know if my life was meant to be full of creation or achievement, or if it was just meant to be lived. At the same time, I've decided that I want so much less fear in