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you don’t know a fucking thing. No, maybe I don’t know a fucking thing because I’ve always been pulled away to attend to the needs of others.
How broken do these people need to be to need something like this? But even as I think that, I feel the iron tug of (go along go along don’t you want to belong somewhere don’t you want to have a home) because nothing feels safer than when someone else is the victim; especially when the next victim could always be you.
Another thought occurs to me while looking at the decorations. Eggs and bunnies: this was always just another fertility ritual, wasn’t it? A celebration of reproduction. So many cultural rites to celebrate birth, adolescence, adulthood, reproduction. Why isn’t there any sort of ritual to celebrate the other side of fertility? Why isn’t there a holiday for middle age?
