The transition from summer to fall has caused an upturn of the contents of my head. I've always been a soup of contradictions but usually manage to show only what rises to the top and let everything else just simmer. Not now. Things are turned up and it's hard to get through the hour without feeling like a crazy person.
I hate you. I love you. I can do this. I can't. Things are good. They're bad. I'm ready. I'm sick with worry. Say it five times fast.
If I've learned anything in 36 years it's that I can't chug down a pot of soup. Even a bowl will scald my mouth and spill half it's contents down the front of my shirt. But I am brilliant with a spoonful. That tiny little bit, just a small portion, carrying the flavor of the whole, but sipped and savored just for itself.
I need a spoon.