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Bobcat Wannabe

Joined: Mon Nov 16, 2020 8:30 pm
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If we ever got out, we would be baseball hats free to love again. The bruises and emaciation, the disease and the wounds, had gnawed away at the racked bodies, but the bodies would be given another chance. Like a forest that goes on growing after a fire. The soft murmur of the sea at high tide and the waves of the moon would bring other loves and children into those torn wombs. Under the dome of this horror, we would love. There we would give birth and raise our children. We were like moles in a tunnel, except that we hadn't had the welcome sleep those wise animals have. We could only crawl down into the deepest holes, where the abomination flowed submissively, begging to pour out to sea. But the sea was thousands of miles away.

But Janine had already stepped out of the line and her legs were carrying her unhaltingly, overcome by some secret power. She approached the Russian officers, whispering something. Two of them followed her back. Ever so slowly, they approached the line. Janine stood opposite the Nazi woman and pointed her out with an arched hand. "That's the one!" The officers dragged her away and the Brünhilde started screaming and jerking convulsively. But the Russian had a firm kangol hats grip on her. He made her stand up, as he struck her on her bald pate. Thus is how I picture her skull, lying on the ground after the worms had gnawed at it. The Russian wasted no time, pulling at her shirt, ripping it right off.

The handicrafts of the inhabitants of Timbiras are highly sought after for their unique style and differentiated colors. I remember when the promise of floppy hat adulthood spelled money, success, and power. An end to clumsiness, both bodily and emotional, a final reckoning of heart and mind. Surely grownups weren't always so confused, so overwhelmed byf the vastness of the world, so unsure of their place within it. I remember as a child looking up at strong jawlines, hardened knuckles, furrowed brows, and longing for that toughness, the physical evidence of impacted wisdom. Maybe some small part of me still wanted to believe in magic. In some miraculous alchemy that could transform a completely ordinary person into a competent, attentive caregiver.

How did that work? Why weren't there months of examinations for this sort of thing? I'd watch newborn babies, spindly and half-blind, smacking their tiny lips for milk, limbs flailing, and ponder all the ways this fragile creature could be broken, destroyed. It seemed terrifyingly easy. It sombrero hat seemed astonishing that one could actually say to themselves, I'm going to nurture this minuscule alien-like animal until it grows up to be a healthy human. This is a task I am ready and willing to take on. And then& do it. Successfully. We sought advice from the women in our family and other parents we were friends with, but always harbored a sly suspicion that we would know what was best. While I appreciated the tips we were given, I also grew to resent the haughty attitude of some of the more seasoned parents, the one that gently mocked us for our preoccupation with researching every tiny detail: what kind of stroller is best?

I wanted to say, sometimes, can't you just let me be anxious? Can't you just let me feel? About two weeks into parenthood, I sat in the rocking chair in my daughter's nursery while my partner painted the walls of our living room. She was asleep on my chest, and I was trying and failing to quell a sudden swell of panic. Overwhelmed and on the brink of a meltdown, I called my mother and sobbed quietly to her, demanding how I was supposed to know whether I was doing any of this right, confessing that I felt inadequate in every way to be saddled with this much responsibility, desperately ashamed of my former arrogance in thinking I could possibly be a good mom to this poor, innocent child who deserved the entire world. Sometimes, the way she clung to me in her sleep or gazed at me while she breastfed broke my heart in a way that felt completely irreparable.

Sometimes they bump their head or pee where they shouldn't or fail to latch, and contingency becomes the only kind of plan you cling to from day to day. The love is what you keeps you going, even when there's no fuel left. As adults, we tend to rely trump hats on what we have learned and what we have experienced. We explain the world with logic and rational thinking. As we grow older, we shed our attentiveness and become bogged down in the responsibilities and demands of our important grown-up lives. We try to find responsible, reasonable solutions. Remember being a kid? When you answered questions with what now seem like nonsensical or radical answers? What happened to that? In an experiment done in 2010, a group of psychologists decided to test the theory that as we leave childhood, so Image do we leave that creative and innovative inspiration behind.


Mon Nov 16, 2020 9:06 pm
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