STREAMLINING PASTA
I wholeheartedly thank everyone for their warm regards for Bado. She’d be ecstatic if she knew how much attention she could single handedly bring in. I’ve always knew that she beats buttered biscuits.
…I’m thinking, grief in its pure form is quite harmless, to be handled as a cold that wants nothing more than to run its natural course. Crying in the shower… sniffing her toys, whatever, sooner or later it always does. But unfortunately it’s now mixed with a toxic dose of regrets, guilt and self-blame and becomes a gust of acid rain, dampening every opening of a smile and making the lightest garment feel heavy… and sploosh!, melts me to the ground with it without warning. The cold fact that we’ve failed our baby girl, and the meaninglessness of how all our hearts and efforts meant the opposite, really…, really. Hurts.
I’m sure it all makes no sense what I’m saying… To shut my brain up and spare us both, I started making some pasta that night.
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