Tell me if this is a detrimental train of thinking, but I think, so long as I am happy, I could care less if my body is in shambles. Bruises, sores, aches, and cuts seem rather…I am indifferent to them. I’ve been playing basketball more and more often because it is something I love. I refrained from playing the sport for three too many years and frankly, I regret it. So, in order to make up for lost time, I’ve been rekindling my relationship with my babe a couple times a week. It was rough the first few times; I had forgotten what it was like to handle something that I had lost for so long. Every time I was on the courts, it was certain that knees would clash, elbows would introduce themselves to my face, or shoulders would somehow find themselves, like magnets, to my poor chest.

But I love it. I wear each injury like a badge, like a child who just found a holographic first-edition Mewtwo in his expansion pack that he got from his mom for his 8th birthday. It’s a love-hate relationship without the “hate.”

I find myself seeing life more vividly. Someone turned up the saturation and I am soaking it all in. Thank you very much.

Stay cute y’all.