morning paradox.

Anniversaries are funny things.
There is an assumption that everything immediately changes at the 365th day.
I understand we need to measure time in some way.
If only for sanity and navigational purposes.

When I watched the movie Castaway, it hit me that to be alone with no person or measurement to break up my existence would be a mute version of hell.  Like in dreams when I try to scream and make no sound.  Days would run together like a toddler's over-painted rainbow.  No red, orange, yellow...only a brown puddle that was supposed to equal a life.

I want to celebrate the passage of time.  I want to celebrate it with the people who have divided it for me.  This is a strange gratitude.  To be thankful to a person for separating time into moments for distinct pleasure.  It is like saying to the sun,
"Thank you for blue.  Thank you for green.  Thank you for the distinction in 100 increments between the two."

But that's how I feel today.

My tweenager has been here 3 times already to hang from the corner of my desk.

"Go away," I tell her.

She rolls her eyes, and slumps her curls so they touch the computer's mouse.
She only wants my attention when I am busy.
I realize that I would not be any better off if my writing were never interrupted.
If I could go deep into the voice which retells my stories, and stay under for hours, I would not be more satisfied.
In fact, I would be lost.

So I find that my irritations on this morning of my 10 year anniversary of being sober, are in fact what make it worth while at all.