I'm a big brother. When my sister and I were kids our parents took us on the occasional picnic at a hilly park near our home. One of my favorite party tricks was to take off running down any convenient grade, hoping that she would follow me. I loved watching her coming down faster and faster, her little legs unable to keep up with her little body. Eventually, inevitably, she'd tumble head over heals to my great amusement. I don't remember whether or not she cried but I'm assuming she did. I proclaimed my innocence with great vehemence, I'm sure. It's what big brothers do: act like pricks then disavow our part in any minor tragedy.
I feel like I'm my sister running down a hill most of the time. I'm moving way too fast chasing something of dubious value to get someplace that may or may not be worth getting to. I'm barely in control and picking up speed. I usually crash then scream like hell at the unfairness of it all.
See you later: I gotta go, I gotta go.
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