Years from now, I'll look back on these days wondering why I made such a big deal over such minor details.

Why things that will look frivilous in the subjective light of passed time matter now to the extent that they do; why I couldn't see that those who demand of me garish, bold-faced 82-point font would come to filter off to faded strokes of a long-whittled-away pencil on the margins of the page; that everything would work out the way it was supposed to.

That the main characters compiled in this living autobiography, those most vivid and grounded in non-fiction, are those that will come to dominate the chapters. They're simply there - imperfect, honest and fascinating as a result. These are the "I just called you to say hi"s and, "You. Me. Coffee"s and the "Hi. Get this"es.

That they're the ones I'll keep around; likewise they're the ones who'll keep me around. If they only for the sake of comedic relief. Heh.

Those that make absurd twist and turn cameos? They're the ones who will make exists just as hasty as their entrances.

I know this and I conveniently forget this from time to time so I can continue to learn and realize that, in the long run, I am learning from them and benefiting from the space that they dominated for a time.

And although I'm a cynic and although I've developed into a more wary version of the naive girl I once was, I know I'll have a happy ending.

Not because I necessarily believe in any fate or any destiny that takes the control from me and passes it off to some unseen beings or entities. But because the sensible (if fanciful, frazzled and a bit prone to overly-romantic flights of whimsy) head on my shoulders would make the decisions that came to matter when the time called for them.

And that I'll learn, in time, not to beat a metaphor to death. Or examine a metaphor when I should have just abandoned writing for the night and gone to sleep...