I like to squeeze the toothpaste in the middle, I always have.
I can't help it the plump spot just aching for a squeeze tempting me like a pinch to a fat baby's cheek.
There are certain things we aren't supposed to do.
Rules of life tangled up with meaningful purpose, strict and formal, stiff and sobering,
dictating with a gnawing voice inside, "don't do it."
Often, we might think we can't do something, though, in reality, we can, yet we don't, blaming it on rules of this or that, or the timing, possibly weighing the consequences with a mixture of uncertainty and fear… the what-if factor.
If I could, I would, and yet I can so why don't I?
Hence, my remedy a symbolic act of conquering fear:
Squeeze the toothpaste.
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