John, Family Ambassador
Postholes, I love you.
I love that you’re like playing Russian roulette in the snow.
I love that you’re like turning the crank on a jack-in-the-box while terrified of clowns.
I love that you’re like Jenga when the tower it teetering.
I love the unpredictable certainty that I’ll punch through the crust of the snow and sink up to my knee. The dread, the acceptance, the possibility it won’t happen, followed by the shock it did.
I love the extra effort required to pull myself out of the hole and that this wasted effort has just decreased the likelihood I’ll get where I’m going.
I love it when my fall doesn’t stop until I’m waist deep and my feet are dangling in space between boulders I didn’t even know I was standing over.