Alarum

I suffer, sometimes, from a surfeit of narrative. Too much of the epic poem that I believe to be my life, too tangled in the story I tell myself.

So days like today are good. Angst-filled, ripe with drama and pathos, the troubles of others and my own insecurities. Moments with the monsters in my life, reminding me that you're all less monstrous than I let myself remember. My days are less than stanzas, y'all have your own skalds, and while I'll be chosen when I'm slain, I'm not dead yet.