I've lived in forty one different houses since I was born. That count does not include the places between. I lost the will to make new friends and leave them behind again. I wait for the twisting of fate that will take me somewhere else I don't want to go. I'm afraid to make a friend of this house, to love it and believe that the leaving has ended at last.
The extinction of all attachment is reserved for the superior few. Insecurity has been my constant. Change crouches on my feet and cripples me. What doesn't kill you makes you weak.
Adversity, times forty one, does not make you strong. The wise say all life is change and suffering. I've learned that, but it didn't bring nirvana. Disinterested wisdom and compassion, the ideal condition of rest, harmony, stability, and joy should be right around the corner.
But I'm super glued to the other side of the coin. Tasered once may stun you, but forty one will kill.
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