I am all too familiar with unease as my normal resting state. Since birth I have been mis-wired. The receptors that should have been loaded with serotonin and dopamine on Saturday cartoon-and-pancake mornings from my childhood were replaced with the sensation of being submerged inside a glass cage with a slow leak that dripped just enough water for me to know I’d drown someday, just not necessarily that day. That was until I discovered all the ways to leave myself, if only temporarily. Painting, sex, and then surfing. And finally, my children. My god, my children. No one was more surprised
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