Bottoms up.
Starting at the bottom makes me think there’s something wrong with the idea of starting at the bottom.
My bottom or your bottom? Which bottom is the real bottom?
Say we buy this house, this house we’ve put down a bid for and got preapproved for a mortgage for and basically put our lives on hold for, is that the bottom?
Or was the bottom the hurricane? The divorce? The rebellious years of wasted youth?
Was the bottom the abuse from my household?
What about when, where, and to whom I was born?
It’s depressing.
Not knowing the bottom. Not knowing the top. Not knowing the future. Not knowing to what extent the past reflects on the opportunities to come.
Maybe I’d like to know the bottom better than I do like it’s an old place I visited once upon a time and I can go back when the world falls apart and there are no other options.
But what if the bottom isn’t there?
What if there is no bottom?
Bottom of a bottle, bottom of a pit, bottom of a very steep hill.
Bottomless.
Cheers, Kat