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Layers. Oh yes, that's me. Or that is I, as I was once taught (thanks, Sister Alma). The layers are compressed wave-lines. My life has been (until now—and probably will remain until the as-yet-undetermined end) one long graph line.
It's up, then down. Up, then down. One line, smoothly connected but never straight. (The only time it will be level is when the heart monitor flat-lines in that finality that we all know from TV hospital shows.)
If you compress that up-down line, pushing in from each end, it will collapse upon itself like some emerging mountain range and the cross-section will show the strata of my days—as layered as bacon.
This little piggy ate fat one day and lean the next. Fat, juicy joy today. Lean, dry desert of depression tomorrow. The layers of my life.
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