Are You Ready? (Cause I Am.)

It's just that I'm not used to not getting what I want. That sounds so product-of-the-suburbs brat, but there it is. It mystifies me, seeing something as being so so extremely, torturously close, and yet so horrendously unbridgably far away. And it's not that I'm some insatiable consumer, hungrily devouring anything flashy and shiny, anything that catches my eye. I don't want a lot, or often, but when I do want something I generally go after it with fierce determination, until it's mine. But you? I pose no threat. These words cripple me. Less and less it's true, but the sucker punch still smarts.

And so with white knuckles I close the chapter. The hunter returns to the pride having caught no prey. How does he explain that what he thought was a gazelle was simply an arrangement of grasses blowing in the wind?