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
hopeloveallthoseotherfeelgoodwords
teetering like a plate on a stick atop the awareness
that it’s only ever as good as my
rollercoasteringmenopausing
hormones will allow it to be,
plus that soupçon of fear
that rides, always, just behind my right ear,
and the awareness that we are all,
still,
in some way,
alone.

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