Grit

I used to watch horror movies with friends (only ever with friends; I tend toward romantic comedies when left to my own devices), and whenever the first person died I would joke: That would be me! First to die!

I never saw myself as the type to survive a zombie apocalypse, a serial killer on the loose, the supernatural dangers of a haunted mansion. I haven't the desire to fight to the death and my first world existence (thank God!) has never demanded it of me.

Some people open their own small businesses and when asked they explain it this way: It just unfolded, very naturally and organically. And every time I wonder: Are they completely full of shit?

Here's my experience of opening a business: I have wrestled something into being that did not exist before. I have reached into the abyss and I have grabbed ahold of the tiniest spark of *something* and I have pulled and pushed and battled it into existence. I've shaped it with my bare hands, made it real and tangible, and still, that wasn't enough! Then I had to make it presentable! I've wrestled it's naked, monstrous body into pretty frocks, combed it's unspeakable hair, washed the dirt and blood from it's impossible face. I've tamed it with a love and patience I didn't know I possessed. And now it's real! It's public! It exists as a thing outside myself! I created something from nothing, and goddammit, it was the hardest thing I've ever done. I am one. tough. bitch.

Next time I watch a horror movie, I'll be the one with the nunchucks hidden in my closet, right next to that head-to-toe leather outfit nobody never imagined I could rock so hard. From now on, I'll be the one still alive at the end.