I’ll wait a little while. I’m reading Schulz. He takes some thinking, the kind o

I’ll wait a little while. I’m reading Schulz. He takes some thinking, the kind of metaphors that crawl up your legs and tap you on the shoulder before you even realise that’s what they are. So it’s ok, I’ve got time. Take yours. 

You’re not ok with this, not yet. You’re squirming at the thought, but you haven’t let it settle in your stomach. There’s a storm of wrong that’s bubbling in your bile, and it isn’t letting you sit right. The thought excites, but there’s a whole lot of worry there, too. You talk like you want it, and you do, in a way. But a bigger part of you wants to be ok with it. 

So think. Sit down and think. Tease it through your head like a loose thread, and unravel yourself a little, read the mess that you make like an oracle, and come up with something that works out the kinks and makes it right in your mind. I can help, guide you this way and that, but you’re going to have to do this, on your own, with just you for company. 

I’ll be in the other room with Schulz. It’s ok, he’s good company.