Dark times. An abundance of emotional capital, but not many other resources to speak of. Where to go? What to do? We wrestle with straightforward questions like they're real live alligators. It takes a toll, physically. One day you look in the mirror and you're staring at the beginning of mortality. Comes a time to stop being afraid of all the life ahead of you, and start noticing all the life piling up behind you. Is that the moment when you "grow up"? I don't know. But I know tragedy will invite itself into all our lives, come and go like irregular seasons and tides. Some get more, some get less. People will die untimely, undignified deaths. The planned obsolescence of our bodies will serve its purpose. The Night will come. Joy too will be distributed unevenly, but it's there. It's there for us to stick our tongues out and taste, if we could only learn to see it better. To see it hiding amidst the weeds, quietly waiting for us to cast aside the distractions of this world we've created and drink it up like wine. Yes, the Night will come. But what else can you do, but waltz on in to the morning?