My sister is mad that I’ve become zen. It seems as if, at one point, everything in my life was “just another dropped jelly bean.” And what I mean by that is the shittiest day in a long time, and trying to appreciate the little things, like the orange jelly beans in a box with too many not-orange jelly beans, and then dropping the last one on the floor. What I mean is staring down at that tiny orange sugar replacement — for love, for respect, for lust, for whatever noun that feels like an adjective you’re lacking — and realizing sadly that it sums up the current disappointing state of your life. But now I’ve found the zen. It’s not caring. Not letting it get to you. Not letting it ruin your whole day. I tell my sister to not care. To not let it get to her. My sister is mad that I’ve become zen. She thinks that’s crappy advice.
