Everyone’s jonesing for that hit of the S’mores. It’s like a town full of Wimpys, promising, “I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a Snickerdoodle today.”
It’s like getting abducted by a UFO. You went into this awful experience with an absurdly difficult and disgusting task. Next thing you know, it’s 45 minutes later and you’re sitting on the floor finished, with no recollection of how you got there or what you did.
There are so many pops and cracks, you’d think I was a walking pile of rap music record albums.
“Who has seen me today? Did I talk to people like this? What is wrong with my face? Am I freakin’ melting?!”
I want to give lectures about what I was forced to call meals as a child and how we don’t get to choose what we want to eat. But, alas, I’m tired. So I plop the Eggos in the toaster and everyone enjoys their morning.
Had you told me two days earlier that this would have been Christmas, I would have screamed in worried agony. I would have called it a failure and seen my biggest fear become a reality.
As I frantically tried to put his clothes back on, I repeated “No, no, no,” and “we don’t take our clothes off”.
You’re here, but your thoughts are a million miles away. One day, you’ll be up to talk about what that is. But that day is not today.
They can influence you, steer you, and try to mold you into what direction they want you to take. Ultimately, though, the destination you reach is yours alone.
It’s the type of thing that most of us might be afraid to talk about – myself included. So let’s talk about it.