Spinning Wheels

above

Every time I think I’m above it all, I find myself right back, flat-faced, molded, to the hard surface of the ground.

By “above it all,” I don’t mean in some condescending sort of way. I mean transcendent, like I’ve finally graduated, or matured somehow – where the little things no longer bother me. You’d think I’d have a real thick skin by now.

No such luck.

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