becomebersome.

the woman i've become tends to use recipes as suggestions rather than rules.  i always add more lemon and garlic.  i never shy away from including chocolate chips, and i taste-test everything over and over again, so my germs are all over the food that i serve to you.

also, there is always cat hair.

the woman i've become sees the boy they've arrested and thinks about her own son, and a life lost, as well as the damage done and the hurt he has caused.  i can't help but mourn for all of us.  i can't help but feel sorry for what went wrong.  i can't feel vengeance.

the woman i've become contemplates cutting her own hair in a last-ditch attempt to finally look like audrey tautou in "amelie" but also has the sense to wait out that feeling a bit more.  i've also become a woman who constantly questions my hair choices, and remembers fondly to the months of buzz cut me, the one who didn't care at all.

still doesn't mean i won't cut it all off, though; i can't give into the fear and self-loathing that accompanies a short haircut anymore.  i refute all of that bullshit.

the woman i've become manages to find fulfillment, longing, desire and pride, all in one little pop song.

the woman i've become is painfully aware of what her life would be like without her friends.  i have no words to accurately describe the fear of losing them, nor the good and light they bring to me.

the woman i've become creates secret handshakes with her children.

the woman i've become is more and less patient all the time.

the woman i've become seems to gravitate towards posts that look like lists; probably because they seem less intensive than digging in deep to a story.

you might not recognize the woman i've become; then again, you may have seen glimpses of me all along.