I have always viewed my inner self - brain? mind? - not so much as compartments as layers.
Something akin to a stack of pancakes.
This stack, capable of re-ordering itself, contains many reject pancakes, batter poured before the pan was hot enough, a scrunched up mess, soggy and raw.
Interleaving these are later ones, well-cooked on one side but charred on the other.
As time goes on, and because of insufficient batter, others are irregularly shaped and holed, allowing glimpses of what lies below.
And as I keep trying new recipes, different flours, the consistency changes, as does the seasoning, ranging from the sweetness of sugar to the bitterness of lemons
Something akin to a stack of pancakes.
This stack, capable of re-ordering itself, contains many reject pancakes, batter poured before the pan was hot enough, a scrunched up mess, soggy and raw.
Interleaving these are later ones, well-cooked on one side but charred on the other.
As time goes on, and because of insufficient batter, others are irregularly shaped and holed, allowing glimpses of what lies below.
And as I keep trying new recipes, different flours, the consistency changes, as does the seasoning, ranging from the sweetness of sugar to the bitterness of lemons
[This was prompted by Khaalidah's post on 6S 'A little mad' ]
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