In all your damaged glory

 Dear future hubster, 

In this life I have that I might have chosen or that might have chosen me, it's easy to just get in the groove of things and just do do do (as opposed to [here comes the sun] dudududu). And while it's actually kinda often kinda hard to get into the groove of adulting when it's not exciting but rather daunting or just plain boring or involves having to interact with products and services that fail to deliver on the one function they were designed for, it is even harder to let go of the pressure to at least pretend having my shit together at presenting some semblance of order. Worrying about keeping my apartment tidy and my hair neat and my syntax correct and my clothes only moderately quirky because what if I suddenly have to impress somebody or justify taking up space. 

And yes yes I know that those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind and all that jazz but first of all it's not always true and then even when it is, it's easy to forget. 

But then! Then come the people who don't only shrug it off and genuinely don't care about the façade but who actually are here for the mess. Because unmatching earrings are fun, because when I say "we don't do perfect around here" they feel relieved that then they don't have to do it either, because they think that messy hair is healthy and jumbled up syntax is less important than meaning, and with all that quiet, adventurous acceptance they actually say "girl, who you are will always peak through any semblance of order" and then I remember that I always have clean cups to drink coffee from and there's always room and time to air out the happy and the sad and always for the hugs,  and the way the tension leaves my body when they remind me that I can just be me and that's not just "okay" but it is a deliberate, powerful stance... if that's not love, I don't know what is. 

But it is. Love, that is.