Tunnels aren’t fun

As most of you are aware, I’m living with Baba these days. Baba’s a very rational and controlled man – he likes things exactly where he’s placed them and in the way that he’s placed them. He deals with problems head-on and doesn’t wallow, preferring to instead deal with things in as clear and focussed a manner as possible.

Which, for the most part, isn’t me.

Since Baba and I had such a long time of separation, he’s now sort of been forced to hit the Baba Road running and he’s doing a pretty amazing job of keeping up.

I tend to tunnel and then pop up in unexpected places, much like a crazy & blind groundhog in glittery crack & a skirt with sparkles. For a man such as him, this is problematic because (a) much like I he doesn’t know in which direction I’m headed as I tunnel & (b) he doesn’t know at which hole to wait for me, so that he may then contain me in an effort to keep me as together and as controlled as possible…or, at the very least, place me in a little glass box with holes in it so that I may breathe as I stare out at him and everyone else in this world. Because, I admit, that sometimes I could use a lot of restraint.

Having recognised that, I’m trying to change that about me as honestly and as slowly as possible so that it remains rectified. And I think (& really hope) it’ll work and that I may learn something from it…’cus tunnels aren’t fun and they exhaust both myself and those I love most, even though it’s not my intention to do so. Worse still, they dirty crack.