A small ode to that special appendage that makes me feel like I am about to hurl when I think of something exceedingly uncomfortable. Like the papers I should have graded this weekend, or that thing I shouldn't have said yesterday, or the fact that I can't actually call my dad. I'm not sure if the pit is a good or a bad thing. I'd like to think that it is a warning, like some sort of primal survival mechanism. But really, it is pretty simple. It is the death throes of denial. The last desperate gasp of our attempt to close our eyes and sing "lalalalalala." A reminder to uncover our ears and our eyes. To look and listen. To face the day, and ourselves with all of the imperfections and missteps and missed opportunities.
I am reminded that I am grateful that I have known someone worth grieving. That I have dear ones worth loving. That I have another day to live it all with that pit in my stomach.
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