A year later

It’s been a year since Arafat’s death.

It’s been a year since my son’s eighth birthday.

And it’s been just over a year since I started therapy, and since I was ambushed by a makeover TV show at a coffee shop on Congress. At the time, I had green hair and was (apparently) wearing a jacket that clashed with it (the host of the show told me this in a way that illustrated what a prick he was). I turned down the makeover, but they asked me to do so on camera, so I did. I had to walk up the street. The host ran up to me and made fun of my hair and my outfit, and thrust the mic under my mouth, and I said, “I like myself just the way I am.”

My therapist told me this was an example of the world rising up to meet me.

(I plan to write about this some more, but I just wanted to post about it here and get my juices flowing. Thanks for being such a cool audience.)

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