Laurie Anderson says all walking is falling. All day long we put one foot in front of the other, fall a little, and then catch ourselves. We take it for granted that we'll just stay upright as much as we'd like.
My early morning thoughts as I walked down the hallway were about the slice of carrot cake I had the night before -- the dessert treat of the week -- a three layer, carroty, raisiny, pecans instead of walnuts! marvel that I savored while streaming the second act of Complicite's production of Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead.
I decided not to turn on the lights in the stairwell. "Ten out of ten I would eat that cake again," I thought. Then cats with puffed alarm tails swirled around me as I rubbed my knee from my seat on the floor.
My last thought before missing the last three stairs wasn't an erudite one about the meaning of boundaries, or our connection to nature, or human cruelty, or anything from the play the night before like the image of a woman opening the door to the forest -- how beautifully lit she was as she exited her story!
My last thought before falling was a sexy one about a cake slice. Was that some zucchini in there?
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