all that, and a bag of chips

I spend my life traveling (careening?) between point A and point B
of various cognitive dissonances
With the not-good-enough voice trying to
shout down the “am so” one,
having traveled four thousand
seven hundred
and sixty-two point nine
miles to do what I’ve been
wanting to do
trying to do
qualified to do
for twenty years.

And this pervasive feeling of joy
teetering like a plate on a stick atop the awareness
that it’s only ever as good as my
hormones will allow it to be,
plus that soup├žon of fear
that rides, always, just behind my right ear,
and the awareness that we are all,
in some way,