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This is NOT a resolution. (It totally is.)

My grandmother is a magic woman.  She is not kind, but she is caring.  She is not patient, but she is always there.  She is in perpetual motion.  She owns a hammock.  I don't know why.  I have literally never seen her use it.  At midnight on her 80th birthday, she was riding the roller coaster at Space Mountain. 

I want to be her, but I also don't.  I want to be my version of her.  I don't know if that's possible, though.  I think her fierceness is required.  The sharpness and kinetic-ness of her must come with the loyalty and strength.  I'm too soft.  I'm too slow.  My edges are uglier and any wounds I inflict the way she does wouldn't be cauterized with love behind them.

I think of her accomplishments often.  I measure myself by them.  I fall short.  Never mind the 46 years she has on me.  They are my bar.  She is my bar.  She is an amazing bar.  Anyone who could measure up to her would have lived an excellent, beautiful, worthy life.  And I know I never…

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