Life is cyclical. I’m utterly powerless over the natural forces directing my life. No matter what I do or how hard I try, I keep ending up in exactly the same place. However, as a writer, I am able to use various metaphors to describe my malaise in a vain attempt to feel as though I’ve somehow made progress. I’ve been stuck in an emotional prison, a ball tumbler, a hamster wheel, and a carrousel, caught in a whirlpool, a swirling vortex of death, a literal hell. Different day, different decade, same torture chamber. I’d like to think there’s some cosmic karma at play. I must have been a really bad girl in a past life, but I’ve been around this exact same block enough times to realize the severity of the gravitational pull of the familiar. I don’t want a different life. I keep trying to force myself to be happy but it goes against the grain of my brain; it leaves me raw and bleeding. Fortunately, there is an alternative. I can embrace the suck. I can quit fighting the current and simply enjoy the ride. So what if I’m spinning in circles? Who cares if the horses are all fake? I can be where I am in the moment. I’m nauseatingly acquainted with the song that is stuck on replay. I can plug my ears or sing along.