and I'm glad, not because it's a girl, but because I worry sometimes that the long-form stories will fall out of me and there won't be anything to follow. The fiction, that is. I suspect that there will always be enough real life to write about.
Right now is a weird time. I have expectations, maybe too rigid, about what I should be doing and where, extending to others my age (and influenced by them). I am in neither country nor city, but it would take only a moment to access either. This is a place in some turns enviable and others stifling. It could be better and also worse.
There is the gravitational pull, the constant, and also the individual rotation of the planets. Free will, if you believe in such a thing. Can you reconcile them? How do you find a midway?
You tell me: Is anyone truly happy where she is?