Trees get wrinkles:
There’s beauty, too:
Trees age with grace.
I hope I do, too.
I’ve said it before:
footpaths don’t grow or breathe or blossom.
Maybe I was wrong …
Emetophobia has governed my life, with a fluctuating intensity of tyranny, for some thirty-five years. Nothing — not the thousands of psychotherapy appointments I’ve sat through, not the dozens of medications I’ve taken, not the hypnosis I underwent when I was eighteen, not the stomach viruses I’ve contracted and withstood without vomiting — has succeeded in stamping it out …
From ‘My age of anxiety’
by Scott Stossel
Sometimes, no cure exists for our ills.
We learn — slowly, painfully — to co-exist with them:
We learn to strive for grace.
Note: Click on the following link if you want to know more about emetophobia. And for a review of the book I’ve quoted from, and more insight into anxiety as well as emetophobia, see Sally Satel’s article from The Millions.
Forever five past four
Years ago, the clock we bought stopped.
I like to think it measures love —