It’s the one possession of mine that I value the most, yet it’s the one I think about the least. I take it for granted, I forget it exists, but I absolutely require it every day. I cannot function without it.
Living in the Northwoods, there is a constant expectation that your day will, at some point, be rudely interrupted by a grotesque and hideous monster known formally as Ixodes Scapularis. In laymen’s terms, you may know them as ticks. My count this summer is seven, one being a deer tick (known for carrying Lyme disease) and one deciding to show up on the back of my neck at 11:37pm in the middle of my shower.
Gross gross gross gross gross.
A lot about life is gross. People can leave a sour taste in our mouths. Memories can disgust us and the news can make us want to throw up or run away. When the ticks of our days invade our carefully cultivated comfortable spaces, we are faced with the decision on how we’re going to handle them.
Conflict resolution, anyone?
I believe there are three ways to