I like to think of myself as accomplished, if moderately so. You're entitled to think otherwise, but it won't matter much. This here is mine, my otherwise.
And so, otherwisingly so, I am: a Simmons/Lesley/Tufts woman. An educated micro-economic-maximizer. A failed spend-thrift. An easily agitated-yes man. I have big legs and a wide smile. My forehead is without wrinkles (yet). I frown often and hold uncompromising grudges. I smile sheepishly. I am intermittent. I work less to change that than I did when I was young enough to agenda set my growth.
I like to think of myself as: a writer. An emotional and emotive logician. A love-hating lover.
Mostly cause (that latter at least), I knew love former and fleeting, semi-permanent and pushy. I've known love lazy. Indulgent. Too curious and intense for its own good.
I've known angry love too. He was a hard one, him. I've known love gentle/nervous. He was a hard one, him.
I've both known and shared mother-love. It's hard, harder, hardest sometimes. Like now. Right-very-much-now.
But I can say in the end I knew love.
And so that makes it
(perhaps) I say whisperingly.
And there really ain't much left to report besides that.