Velveeta & antique tiaras

When the perfect thing comes [along], the choice is easy, (though ease is understandably relative—as are all things, really—) & most folks who know me would say [that the choice] I [made] was right [& in keeping with what they know of me & how I am]. Not to say that all I am is antique tiaras & dramatic capes—the kind of drama that only comes from childless aunts [perfumed with gin & too much money] without any sense of purpose. Not that only children give us purpose—in fact, there is a distinct lack of purpose around most children—I admire their nonsensical whimsy, their commitment to the present moment. In some way, I identify with that [in these times, where there is nowhere to go & nothing to do & nothing to be & no] persona [to puppeteer through social spaces & shared offices]. In some ways, I[t’s] like being a child again: the things we can control are so minor—so vanishingly small. Maybe that’s what’s behind my craving for grilled cheese sandwiches—I suppose [it all comes full circle] I never really grew [out of dressing] up [or eating fake plastic cheese].