All of it, or as much as possible.

I turn 25 next Saturday.

25 rotations around the sun.

25 years of nonsense.  Of love.  Of vegetables, strong words, weak drinks, sun and soil and storm.

All of it, or as much as possible.

I have one knife in my apartment.  One knife, a lemon zester, two different sets of plates both a gift from friends.

I was so mad the first night I invited Jake over.  I was so mad.  Here was this man, who invited me out and I blew him off the first time.  Then I invited him out and he nearly didn’t show (namely the aforementioned flaking; it was also the coldest night of the year).  Here he was, in my home, talking to me, listening, being as smart as I am, as clever, as good of a rhetorician (better), as confident.

I’ve spent 24 years establishing myself.  Here, in the twilight of that 24th year, this man came along just as established and stayed the night.

And the morning.

Then, invited me over the night after.

It’s been three months.  A blip.  A drop in the ocean of innumerable people, falling in and out of this feeling.  What do I know of longevity?  I open my arms and say, thank you.  For now.  For today.  For good.  And I trust.  Lord god, I try to.

I have one knife, a lemon zester, plates, cups, bowls, towels, a bed, a sofa, a bookshelf.  I need very little to know who I am.

It only takes one night to change.  One moment to be challenged.  For the better?  For good (to borrow heavily from Wicked).

I’m excited for this new year.  I am excited for you.  I’m excited for what destruction and dreams 2017 has already brought, for what more we might change, what more we might celebrate.

I know who I am, and I’m growing.  Shedding old skin, acquiring new armor.  Laying down my mantle to pick up something greater.  Better.  For good.

All of it, or as much as possible.

I am establishing.  My parents are coming to see me, my apartment, my second go-round at life in the Queen City.  They seem proud, and I am humbled.

I paid my bills for the past three months with acting gigs.  I drink straight whiskey and wear what I want.  I thrive from, am moved by, the generosity and goodness of others.  The 15 year old version of me is squealing with delight.  She did think, however, we’d have more children and less tattoos by now.  Texas, y’all.

I turn 25 next Saturday.

Another rotation around the sun.

I open my arms and say, thank you.

All of it, or as much as possible.

I love you.  I miss you.  This is what I hope for you.

All of it, or as much as possible.

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