|photo by E. Lohninger|
"One day at a time" is way too long. I'm only capable of handling 20 minutes at any given moment and that's on a good day.
It is hard to carve and coax love out of one's failed past, broken-hearted role models, and Fred and Ginger movies. Even An American In Paris offered only fantasy as a road map. (yeah show me a broke artist who picks the poor girl over the heiress....)
But, like time passing or a kid getting taller, its presence, during many twelve hour walks through the city, unfolded imperceptibly until one morning a note sent to a friend recounting the previous twenty-four hours was filled with words like "laughing" and "fun" and "good" and other similar happy descriptions. There were no recognizable words like "struggle" or "fight" or "confused" or "frustration" or "despair" or "futile" or....
If I hadn't written that note, I would have never known how I had laughed all night (which is just like dancing all night only you get to sit down). I would have never notice what once was foreign in my life was suddenly present. I would have never have noticed my life was becoming different from what I had known for so long.
So, imagine my surprise 780,000 minutes later (which is approximately 39,000 20 minute segments) that what once was different now seemed normal.
Happy Valentine's Day to the Mariner.
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